The Human Condition
by hellamybellamy
Summary: Alissa Cameron was just an ordinary high school girl defined by three things: her wit, her hatred for her brother, and the lack of control she had on her life. When strange things start happening, she can no longer afford to be ordinary—but she quickly finds out she never was in the first place.
1. Chapter I

**_Saturday nights weren't always this hectic, but they certainly were this anxiety-inducing._** The hundredth time of checking myself over hadn't done a damned thing to soothe my insecurities. Really, if anything, it just seemed to worsen them. _What if he thinks I'm some hideous hag? What if my dress is too short and he goes around telling everyone I'm easy? What if my hair gets frizzed by the humidity and ruins my whole look?_ No matter what, the worries kept coming, until I was flopping on the nearest surface—which happened to be my desk chair—and burrowing my face down into my hands. The heartiest groan of all hearty groans escaped me, surely evoking laughs from whatever flitting entities inhabited my room.

" _Fuck,_ " I said simply, knowing if I said it any louder, Jared would hear and— _damn him—_ he'd come and lecture me on _language_ , of all things. The jerk took any opportunity to assert big-brother authority over me, and it was any wonder how he hadn't sniffed out my nocturnal plans and, somehow, planted a threat in the soles of tonight's date. Knowing the guy—his name was Tom, bless him—and his fraidy-cat personality, he would have certainly turned tail and ran, so the more minutes that went by without a last-minute phone call, the better for my conscience. Who _wouldn't_ go mad with rage if their sibling cut the ties on a date for the fifth time that month? I wouldn't hold it against my heart to have a fatal arrest if I _did_ end up dateless for the night. I could keel over, and I'd probably thank the fates for it, considering I'd commit murder if I spent more than two minutes still living afterwards.

Besides, _Jared_ didn't have the slightest authority over me, aside from an extra ten months that allowed my itty-bitty embryo to develop in the womb, and even if he did—even if he was the freakin' president of _Earth_ —he didn't _deserve_ my patience, or my obedience, or to even hear my _beautiful_ voice. He was just an asshole, and I wasn't going to cater to his ego like his stupid girlfriend did any chance she got. Fucking Kim, and that obsessive, _Jared-is-soooo-perfect_ complex she had going on before the _change._ Before he suddenly thought Kim was perfect, and I was just a fucking speck of cosmos in the Milky Way.

"Yo, Alissa—you in there?" And would you look at that— _speak of the devil, and he shall appear._

I didn't fight the great, ugly scowl as it appeared, but I did fight off the aching _fight-or-flee_ reflex that accompanied it. "What do _you_ want, asshole?"

A pause. Then a sigh. Jared was always one for dramatics; it was any wonder he didn't join drama club. "Just—stay inside tonight. Please. It's not safe, and I don't want to see you hurt."

 _Huh._ That wasn't what I expected—no, not at all. Despite my curiosity at why he pegged _me_ , his little, annoying sister, important enough to ward from venturing outside, I couldn't stop the bark of laughter, even if I wanted to. "Don't pretend to give a flying _fuck_ about me, Jared," I snapped, ignoring the bitterness, hoping he heard the seeping hatred, even through the door. "And besides, I'm _not_ going outside anyway. So be on your way. Toodles!"

Jared didn't leave. I wondered for half a second whether he flinched my tone, the intentional use of angry resentment on my tongue, or stopped for a moment just think about his asshole-ish ways. But then he started _speaking_ — "There's someone who just got done knocking on the door, asking for you. I did you a favor and said you weren't feeling well, so he could go home—"

 _Oh my god. He didn't._ "You… you sent my date home? _Home?!_ " The icy, cutting rage I felt was no match for the bark of my bedroom door, nor the golden metal of my doorknob, and seething, seething, _seething_ , I slammed my door open. Jared was just outside of it, wearing nothing but a pair of cargo shorts and sneakers, and if it were any other day, I would have stuttered some excuse from the vicinity and fled the scene, mortified with embarrassment. But I was filled with rage, and all I wanted to do was punch and hit him until the anger went away and I was filled with nothing but sad humiliation.

 _How the fuck am I going to find a boyfriend in this living condition?_ I thought, staring up at Jared with unshed tears, a hole in my chest so big that even my _ancestors_ could see through. "Why do you keep doing this?! I just want someone to care about me! You don't care about me at all! You just want to keep hurting and embarrassing me because you think it's funny! Well, I've got news for you, Jared—my life isn't a freaking joke, okay?! I've got feelings and every time I've ever liked a guy you've ruined everything with your big, fat mouth!"

Silence. Nothing but silence. I was out of breath by the end of my rant, and I didn't bother stopping the tears, even when they ruined my make-up and sent a stream of salty, mascara-infused liquid into my agape mouth, even when they caused Jared's stoic face to crumble into a guilty frown.

"Alissa, I—"

"Fuck you!" I shouted, shoving back at his chest with a fiery vengeance. The shock was enough to send Jared stumbling back, a look of unadulterated remorse masking his stiff, dreary features. "Go the fuck away and never talk to me again! I hate you!"

Jared, looking lost-for-words and utterly _speechless_ , opened his mouth. But nothing would change the effects of what he'd done to me, what he kept doing to innocent boys. No words could fix anything—no affection could make up for the damage caused by his abandonment. So without another word, another look, Jared was gone.

And I was left to crumble, like I always did, with not a single person to turn to except myself.

High school was a silent, deadly repressor of creativity and a social construct built to convey the following words: _Fuck learning on your own time. Do things you don't want so you'll get used to it before you hit the real world!_ Sometimes I wondered how much trouble I'd get into for telling Principal Howard just how annoyed I felt going to school at 8 every morning, but I supposed nothing could be worse than enduring Mrs. Johnson's lovely, gravelly voice every morning. After all, she thought every noise that came from me was a sign of disrespect; the amount of times I received in-school suspension for yawning during a half-bit ramble was almost comical.

Let's just say the number was more than five but less than twenty.

Today was one of those days where I was _threatened_ with suspension, but not given the slip that sealed my fate; this meant I was in a rather great mood by third period. So good, in fact, that it was noticeable. _Too_ noticeable.

"Why do you look so happy, Alis?" the boy sitting beside me asked: name: Jacob Black, status: not friends, in this lifetime or any beyond. "Normally you look like want to kill something."

The boys sitting behind him laughed, as they always did. There was two of them, which meant I'd need a foot alongside my fists if I were to fight their unwanted, unneeded interventions into my super-happy headspace.

That super-happy smile once occupying my mouth disappeared almost instantly. What could I say? Jacob Black and I were not friends, and I nearly hated him more than I hated shepherd's pie. Key word being "nearly." "There's this thing called 'shutting the fuck up' and it's something you should totally get started on doing before I break your fucking nose," I growled in reply, making sure to do my best impression of an ogre while I was at it. No one would be interested in conversing with someone who smiled and glowered like Shrek.

Jacob Black raised his hands in defense, but otherwise took my advice.

Good. He was learning.

"So you mean to say you don't find the chief's son even a _little bit_ attractive?" Kallie, my only and closest friend, asked, looking a bit bewildered, if you'd believe it.

I couldn't help it. I snorted. "Why the hell would I find him attractive? You know I hate him, Kal."

The story between me and Jacob was a short and simple one. Billy Black was a great man—our tribe chief, and the sweetest elder, confined to a wheelchair due to past diabetes complications. He sometimes gave me lessons in the tribal language, and it made me feel much closer to my heritage. His _son_ , on the other hand, had always been a direct nuisance in my life. When we were young and Bella Swan—also known as the love of Jacob's life—still visited, he would always show off to her by throwing mud-pies at me and ridiculing me for being so attached to my older brother, Jared, who I used to follow around when we were young and he wasn't such a hardheaded dunce. Yeah, sure, I was _Sissy Lissy_ and _Crybaby Cameron_ , but surely Jacob felt some sort of remorse for being such an utter ass as a bobble-headed child. Right? Yeah, I thought so, too, until the dirty freshman directly embarrassed me during the start of my sophomore year at La Push High School; he asked what kind of undergarments I regularly wore because he could have sworn he saw me fucking Tommy Long the last week before summer's end. From then on, everyone thought I was a whore, always asking me if I had a thing for backseats or if that was just an accommodation for Tommy's sake.

Yeah, I know. I knew back then, and I still know; Jacob Black's a dickhead, and nothing wouldn't change that one, simple fact.

"O-Oh, right—I forgot Jacob's the one…" Kallie trailed off, looking like a small bean of embarrassment as she hugged herself tight. It make me feel bad for being so straightforward.

"Who decided to make everyone believe I'm a whore?" I smiled drily. "Yep, the very one. I'd rather vomit than look at him like that, Kal."

We were in the school cafeteria for once, sitting by the far wall, just a few tables from Jared's usual. Typically, we avoided anyplace with crowds, but the library was closed for cleaning today, so we didn't really have any choice. We'd swapped our lunches—my peanut-butter-jelly sandwich for her miniature s'mores snacks. "Well… why do you find attractive, then?"

"No one, really," I said, but that was decidedly a lie. I just didn't feel comfortable disclosing who I found attractive in such a loud, public place, crawling with eavesdroppers. And a lot of the people I was thinking about were in here, which made the idea of speaking aloud my attractions that much worse. Though, by Kallie's look, I was just leading her to think she wasn't a trustworthy-enough friend for secrets. "I swear it!"

"Well, we all know how promises work out for you," Kallie said, that accusing look on her face. That damned expression was almost always the leading cause of my downfall.

"Ugh, _fine_ ," I said. Even though I really didn't want to talk about this aloud, I knew Kallie would pull it from me eventually, and she wasn't the most patient of people, so waiting around wasn't an option. I was screwed at this point, basically. "I think Paul Lahote's attractive. I also think Embry Call's decently pretty. And Tommy—the boy everyone thinks I've fucked—has a nice ass."

"Anddddd?" Kallie leaned closer.

"And what?"

She rolled her eyes at me, like her cryptic aggravation was meant to be easily decoded. Newsflash: I didn't know what the fuck she wanted. "Who do you find prettier?"

"You'd say, 'more handsome!' if you were going for a masculine approach, but—okay, no need for the fucking glare, sheesh." I gave her the side-eye, then did as I knew she wanted, and mumbled, "Palaot."

" _What?_ What was that?" Kallie was teasing, obviously; she knew exactly what I said. She just wanted to hear me say it again.

" _I don't like_ _anyone_ ," I said slowly, so the idea would get stuck in that thick head of hers, "but if we had to go superficially here, Paul would out-beat the others."

"He is rather cute," Kallie said agreeably. "Too bad he's a meathead."

I rolled my eyes, but nodded at the term, mumbling, "Yeah. Too, too bad."

Paul Lahote was what you'd call a complete and utter _brute._ He was notorious for his fights, and his suspensions; rumors had it that his knuckles were calloused from all the times he'd used them on another kid's face. Just knocking into him in the halls could be enough of a cause for him to go ape-shit and lay one or two fists into you. The only parts of him that came out of the fights injured were his hands, and even then, it was just busted skin from the amount of times he opened a wound on the other guy. I couldn't say I didn't find it hot, because _I totally did_ ; I just didn't want Kallie thinking I had a type. Then she'd try and score me another date, and I'd have another reason to hate Jared with a burning passion.

"Speaking of Paul, I don't see him anywhere. Where is he?" Kallie turned in her chair to give the cafeteria a far sweep. I did the same, but thankfully, I wasn't the one looking into a wall so I didn't have to move around in my chair. Now that she'd mentioned Paul's absence, I noticed Jared's absence as well. I felt my nostrils flare as assumptions whizzed by in my head.

"Jared's not here either," I mumbled to her, "but his girlfriend is, so he's definitely not skipping to bang her in his backseat." I felt bad for thinking it, and saying it aloud, but really, I'd caught the two of them fooling around outside before. It wasn't far from the truth—anything but, actually.

"You think they're together?" Kallie asked me, turning to look at me with those pretty, almond-shaped eyes of hers.

I quirked a smile. "I doubt it." I remembered that Jared and Paul used to be really great friends, back before sophomore year. I'd even go so far as to say they were best friends. I used to follow Jared around like a little duckling would its mother, and wherever Jared went, Paul came too, so the two of us were very acquainted with one another. So much so that we were each other's first kiss.

After Jared became a junior, the two of them stopped hanging out as much, and Jared became less thrilled whenever I'd ask to go along with him wherever. I knew the two of them were still in cahoots with each other, so it definitely wasn't due to a fall-out; it just took longer than I'd care to admit for me to realize I was becoming an annoyance for Jared. And he started thinking it was weird to have his little sister tag along whenever he'd go to the movies or the beach. He even got Paul to ditch me, which was my ultimate reason for developing a grudge against my brother. His sudden interest and respect for Sam Uley did nothing to help our relationship, either. It just made it worse, especially when he dropped everything to become one of the man's cronies.

I _knew_ the two of them were together. I just didn't know if Paul was getting inducted into their gang, or if the two just wanted to hang out for old time's sake. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to voice them to Kallie, not when the girl was ignorant to the _real_ root of Jared and I's broken relationship.

 _Keep your secrets, Alissa. You never know when one will become your greatest weapon._

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch—and the end of our conversation. I smiled. "Well, I guess I'll see you in English, Kal," I told her, rushing to put all my waste onto a tray without dropping anything to the linoleum floor. I wanted away from the cafeteria before Kallie could interrogate me on my blatant lying. "Bye!" I went scurrying along, dropping the plastic tray right into a garbage bin as I passed by.

I could hear her call after me, but I didn't reply. After all, it'd just give her the motivation to run me down and interrogate me. And she wouldn't like the answers.

"Dad, I'm home!" I yelled, depositing my backpack by the doorway. "What's for dinner?"

"Nothing you'd like." That was Dad, all dry humor, no smiles. A very serious man. He'd give Leah Clearwater and her sour attitude a run for her money.

Not liking the implication, I walked into the kitchen. I was unsurprised to find he was right. Pork-chops and corn chowder, lemonade as a refreshment. I felt internal-me gag at the sight of it.

"I don't understand why you can't just make lasagna or something."

Dad made a face, like he was caught between scowling and scoffing. He pointed a wooden spoon at the chowder. "You'd like it if you tried it, Alissa.

"Nah, I'd rather slowly dehydrate in the Grand Canyon," I said wryly, smirking when I caught the eye-roll. _Mission accomplished._ "Now, show me to the Hamburger Helper—"

"—Hey, Dad, is it alright if Paul stays over tonight?"

I stiffened. I felt whatever words were about to come out of my mouth die right there, hidden beneath months of bitterness rioting in my throat. Taking a note from Dad, I scowled, _hard._

 ****Dad didn't notice my internal struggles. Not that I wanted him to. "Of course. Alissa doesn't like my cooking, so there'll be plenty of food."

I turned slightly, noticing both Jared and Paul in the kitchen's opening. They looked a little worse for the wear, both sporting purple bags underneath their eyes and looking totally wrecked. Surprising—no new bruises or cuts. That meant Paul hadn't gotten into a fight.

Jared caught my eye, but immediately looked to the ground when he saw the way I was looking at him. I didn't feel the need to fake affection for him, not after the past few months, and especially not after last night. Dad's presence couldn't lift the storm pressing down on my shoulders.

"Sounds good, Mr. Cameron. Thanks." It was Paul who spoke. Though I wasn't surprised. Jared had a tendency to go quiet and guilty anytime I even looked at him. It was a power I enjoyed having.

Wanting to spare a glance at my brother's best friend, I was surprised—and a little bit bewildered—to find a much different-looking Paul. He had his hair cut short, and he looked taller, bigger, _stronger_. Even through his shirt, his abs were noticeable, as were his arms, both looking bigger than they were just a week ago. And even though he was already tall, he was even taller now; he reached the wooden head of our doorway now. It made me think back to when I was thirteen and he was fourteen, and how he had to lean down to reach my height. Puberty hit him hard, and puberty hit me late. Even now, it felt like puberty was avoiding me, even though the doctors said I'd gotten my fill of it at age fifteen.

I couldn't help marveling at Paul, an eyebrow raising high at the way he looked now. I had never expected for him to go from handsome to _fucking hot._

I felt embarrassed when I realized he noticed my gaze, and I quickly turned my back to instead look at my father. Surely that'd get rid of the feeling of heat lurking at the back of my neck. _Too late._ The thought of Paul noticing me, though, was hard to get rid of it, and I continued to thnk about it and feel embarrassed about it. An unfortunate predicament, considering the apple of my thoughts was standing mere feet away.

"Look at Paul, Kallie—why can't you have good manners like him?" Dad asked me, giving me that stern look he had anytime I did something he didn't like.

I rolled my eyes. I found I was doing a lot of that these days. "Can I go to Kallie's tonight? Her family's having spaghetti." It wasn't lasagna, but I could go for anything that wasn't _corn chowder._

Jared was the one to open his yap this time. "Are you trying to go out with Joshua again? I thought you gave up on that." I turned back around, sneering when I saw the look on his face. The _brotherly_ look.

"Joshua is ancient history, dear brother," I said acidly. "Didn't you hear? Tommy's my latest attempt at a conquest. That way, the rumors won't actually be _rumors_ anymore."

Jared stared at me for a moment. He didn't seem mad, weirdly enough. "Tommy's a man-whore," he pointed out instead.

"Wow, who knew _that? Of_ _course_ he's a man-whore."

"Then why would you want to go out with him?"

"Because I'm bored, and I want a boyfriend."

"You're going to get chlamydia."

"Good. Then you can pay for the doctor's bill with the money you use to get in Kim's pants."

Jared actually growled at that. Huh.

"What, are you a dog now? I thought I was the bitch in the house," I taunted.

Dad grabbed me by my shoulder, squeezing tightly. _Ow._ "Stop provoking your brother, Alissa," he said warningly. "And _language."_

Paul clapped Jared on the shoulder, looking like a laugh was caught in his throat. It probably was. I was a comedian, after all. I liked the way smiles and laughs looked on him, I decided; they fitted him far more than scowls and sneers did.

I supposed that Paul knew I was looking at him, because he suddenly turned his gaze over towards me. And that's when my world stopped.

It was like gravity no longer existed. And Jared and Dad weren't in the room. It was just Paul and I—just the two of us—five feet apart, and staring into each other's eyes. Several emotions flitted by in his: shock. Happiness. Longing. Pain. It's almost like a switch kept flickering on and off, as if his feelings kept getting swept in the ocean of brown that was his eyes, and his expression twisted, matching whatever those eyes portrayed.

My voice and breath were caught in my throat. I didn't know what to think, whether to cut eye-contact or faint gleefully. I felt like my entire future was staring straight through me.

"Oh, my God," Jared said, teeth gritted so hard you could hear the grind, and that's when I fell out from my daze. And I realized Paul and I shared a moment, a _romantic_ moment, far longer than we should have.

Paul was grinning before, but the sound of my brother's voice knocked the grin right off his face. "Sorry, man," he muttered, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "I didn't—"

Jared grabbed Paul's shoulder, and shoved him into the living room, not sparing me or our father a glance. The moment they got out of eyesight, the bickering started. Then the shouting.

"Well, that was awkward," I said. My heart was pounding out of my chest.

Dad gave me an unreadable glance before turning and getting back to cooking.

 _What the fuck just happened?_


	2. Chapter II

_**Saying this would be a betrayal to the very essence of my being,**_ but as a stupid, naïve little girl, I thought I meant something special to Paul Lahote. I gave him my first kiss, and he gave me his, and I was sure that though Jared no longer acknowledged me as his best friend, Paul wouldn't exhibit the same treatment; _he's not like that, he's a good guy, he's honest,_ all fleeting thoughts, unwitting notions from the head of a hopeless romantic, ones I would refuse admitting to, even if my dishonesty killed me. I thought he was different, but he proved himself a follower, and his hurting gaze was not something of a weapon, even if it caused my chest pain as I cut the final tie I had to anyone but Kallie O'Brien.

 _You cut the ties,_ I reminded myself. _You know what kind of people they are._

Paul was a good guy—I could admit to that, no matter how hard my heart lurched at the very mention of his person—though I was unsure whether his goodness could ever possibly run its layers anywhere near me. I felt his true colors only showed around those he most cared about—a list that I could physically feel shorten the longer he went with irrationalizing, _externalizing_ , his anger.

I tried telling myself all this on the way to school that next morning. Though the contact between us yesterday screamed chemistry, it also gleamed with _danger_ —danger of a passion so bright, it seared the thin, thin line between brazen ecstasy and regret. And even if we _could_ manage the risk of fleeting passion, even if we surpassed the shallow and submerged ourselves in blissful ignorance, we put ourselves in peril of jeopardizing a fateful happiness.

I could be wrong for him.

He could be wrong for me.

We could hurt each other, tear one another apart, until the point of no return, until love became an impossible feat.

I knew him.

He knew me.

Nothing could save us from crashing. And as I gripped the steering wheel tight, I knew I was overanalyzing and reading too far into things, _again._

Paul didn't care about me the way I sometimes wished he did. And due to that, a romantic relationship was practically _impossible._ So hoping for a contradictory decision by the fates really wasn't going to help anything.

Well, except give me the impression I was an idiot. An extremely big idiot. Paul had joined my brother's gang! He was with Sam now! What was the stupidest decision I could make?

I huffed a laugh, pressing the horn at a teenage boy who skateboarded by my car a little too close for comfort. _Convince myself I like the guy, of course._

"You look like death," Kallie deadpanned—rather bluntly—when I shuffled into our art-class, a spare minute from being tardy, that very _lovely_ morning.

I laughed, but the sound was dry. Humor wasn't a specialty of mine in the mornings. "Well, fuck, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself, _K_."

Kallie didn't respond. She just threw up a funny-looking thumbs-up—one that looked more like the formation of a clawing motion—and I chose not to comment. If she wanted to look stupid—well, who was I to make remarks and judgments without a checkboard for documentation?

Instead of saying anything else, I dropped my bag to the floor and proceeded to the cabinets. Without any real inspiration, and without incentive for a true _chef-d'oeuvre_ or any _real_ creative piece, I decided on an array of colorful hues, and claimed the biggest canvas I could find. It barely made the fit for my easel, but I paid the comical sizing no mind, and set to work.

The picture I had in my head was one that truly spoke volumes on my communiqué expertise. I'd call it _Girl Hates People and People Hate Girl._ It'd have two perfect strangers chunking a scruffy girl over a cliff, ugly and unrecognizable because last time I painted a satisfyingly grotesque scene, Mrs. Meadows knew I'd portrayed myself being hurt or killed in some fashion, and had _Mr_. Meadows (her lovely bear of a husband, and the school counselor) give me a rundown on why it was wrong to paint me getting eaten by a pool of sharks.

I told him it was just a painting. He told me it was a foreboding look inside my head that rang alarm bells. Which I thought was amusing, if only for the lack of any real emotion on his face. Why play yourself the sympathetic caretaker if you couldn't even fake your worry?

 _Whatever,_ I thought, drawing the cascade of oceanic waves that Painting-Me would crash into. _No one here knows what the hell they're talking about._

Lunchtime, yet again—but this time, Jared and Paul were actually in attendance for today's wonderful carte du jour of meatloaf, grilled asparagus, and buttered rolls.

They were at their usual table—Kim accompanying them, of course. Jared had his arm around her, talking to Paul—who sat across from the couple like the glum, brooding bachelor he was—though Paul wasn't actually responding. If anything, he looked bored. And contemplative. An interesting combination. Hm.

Kallie snapped her fingers in front of my eyes, and I had to jump to attention, body going stiff with surprise. "Hello? Are you even paying attention, Alis?"

I looked at Kallie, then at the other people sitting with us that wonderful afternoon—Erica, a mouthy freshman; Zara, an even-mouthier freshman; and Jeremiah, a _mouthiest-of-the-mouthy_ sophomore. So all-around, Kallie would be getting her worst nightmare come true, and would have to endure an entire twenty-five-minute block of getting attention swiped from her left and right. A great tragedy indeed, especially when compared to my attention-deficient span that could only operate in randomized intervals.

I smiled, putting too many teeth into my mouth's spread to be real and unforced. "Of course!" I was unable to bite my tongue. And I certainly didn't have the capability to find a grasp on my tone, because the sarcasm slipped out, and the smile turned into a crooked smirk. As it always did. "Okay, maybe not. Maybe I zoned out before you even started talking."

Before Kallie could roast me alive, Erika began to squirm in her seat, squealing with laughter. She had a finger waggling in my direction before I could even blink. It made me want to take her by the hand and snap each finger like a carrot. "See, see! I _told_ you she wasn't listening!" She nestled into Kallie's side, putting her head into the crook of her neck. "I would _never_ do that to you, Katie."

Kallie's face was turning pink with discomfort, but at the final word, her face fell perfectly flat. "It's Kallie," she deadpanned.

" _Oh._ "

I rolled my eyes. When Kallie and I found ourselves void of anywhere to sit, we flocked to our usual table (sat by the far west of the cafeteria) and got its inhabitants (none of which we really knew—or liked, for that matter) to let us sit with them, not knowing the trouble that laid ahead for us. Unbeknownst to Kallie, I really only wanted this table for an easy vantage of Jared and Paul's table. I got an easy excuse for having to look at them, as they were in my direct sight if I sat in the seat I was in. And I knew Kallie enjoyed the view as well, because she had a wonderful view of Embry Call's backside. And she had a big, fat crush on the boy.

Jeremiah, the dick, slithered right up next to me. "How 'bout we ditch the losers, and go catch a flick at my house? Maybe get a few burgers at Irma's Diner." When I turned to look at him, he flashed me a wink. He thought he looked suave, but really, it was like witnessing a boy get jabbed in the eye with a pen. I was sure the disgust showed on my face, and in my body as it twisted away from him, because his cool grin fell into a frown. "Don't give me that look, Alissa."

That _look? What?_ I didn't know what I was doing before I spat the same exact words out; " _That_ look? What?"

The confidence had faltered, like he didn't realize the extent of his words before I cried for an annotation, and a grimace-like smile was in its place. "Give me that _look._ Like you're a fucking prude. All the guys know you throw yourself at anyone who looks a second time."

Erika stopped talking, and had lifted her head from Kallie's shoulder to blink dubiously in Jeremiah's direction; Kallie was sitting pin-straight, gaping at Jeremiah like a repulsed goldfish; and Zara was merely admiring her nails, trying to hide her disgust behind pursed lips.

"Um, _what_ did you just say to me?"

Jeremiah laughed, like he found this funny. But I didn't see a single fucking thing I felt like laughing about. "You know exactly what I just said," he said, smiling at me—like he wasn't the biggest asshole in all of fucking Washington state. Like he still thought I'd say yes to a date with him. "You're just in denial that you're a desperate virgin slut—"

Before he could finish, Paul _fucking_ Lahote was lifting the boy from his seat and vaulting him over the table. Except there was a wall right against the back of the table so Jeremiah tumbled onto the chairs aligning the back, which sprung two squealing girls from their seats and over the table, to my side, themselves. And he was yelling shit; " _Who the fuck do you think you are saying shit like that to her?!"_

I watched Paul jump onto the table, then nimbly slide against the wall—landing on top of Jeremiah, and pinning him between the table and the wall. He threw a fist into Jeremiah's mouth. And he continued yelling—" _Don't you ever fucking talk about her again_!"

I jumped from the table, tripping over myself and only saved by Kallie's shaking arms. We both shared a wide-eyed look, equally shocked by Paul's very _sudden_ and very _unexpected_ appearance, but personally, I was a bit pleased to see him pummeling a boy in the name of my honor. As repulsive the notion was, I felt affection swell in my chest—and I couldn't help the desire I had to kiss him, hug him, _drown him_ in my gratitude—

Jeremiah's arms were like noodles, flailing as they attempted to hit anywhere on Paul that would halt the assault he was facing, and it was a sad—and very weak—attempt, as Paul was notorious for his fist-fights, and there wasn't a single one where he hadn't come out victorious. And after he came back to school, even the teachers had noticed how tall, broad, and buff he suddenly appeared, how terrifying he looked when he scowled. It was a no-brainer to avoid any and all altercations with the boy.

Which, Jeremiah definitely had, but Paul was in cahoots with Jared, and I was Jared's little sister, so Paul wasn't about to just _tolerate_ someone talking shit to my face! Right? This couldn't have any of the protective tendencies I was _hoping_ for; it was just fierce, brotherly loyalty, none of that mushy nonsense. Paul wasn't like that

Right?

Before Paul could _really_ get some damage in and permanently fuck up Mr. Right's assets (not that they could even charm the thong off a stripper) two of the mathematics teachers were pulling the table from the wall and Mr. Meadows was hauling Paul (still swinging and still seething with anger) off Jeremiah's frail, bleeding body.

"Get the nurse!" Mr. Meadows snapped at one of the math teachers.

I wasn't paying attention. All my attention was focused on Paul—the nitty-gritty details of him, whether that be the blood splatters on his cheeks or the way his nostrils flared with sweltering anger, like he was inhaling rage and exhaling fumes.

His eyes snapped up to meet mine. And we stared at each other—me with a brazen look of awe, of gratitude, and him with an expression of utter anger. But that anger calmed the moment he registered the look in my eyes. The hunching in his shoulders calmed, and neared the crescendo—falling and falling and falling, until he was perfectly still, and we were left looking at each other. Mr. Meadows was yelling in his ear, telling him he'd chipped one of Jeremiah's teeth, but he didn't care or didn't seem to hear—one of those two options—because he just continued to stare at me.

Until there was no longer any anger on him. Until he just stared at me with his own form of brazen awe.

"Come on, Mr. Lahote," snarled Mr. Meadows. "You and I are going to see Principal Myers, and I can _promise you_ you'll be suspended for at least a _week._ " Instead of fighting him, as I expected Paul would, he willingly let the counselor and the other math teacher yank him to his feet.

His eyes never left mine—not until he was pulled through the cafeteria doors, and the heat his presence caused had to vanish.

And his eyes stayed—not with me, but in my memory, for I could never forget the feeling his stare embedded deep within me.

"You _can't_ tell me you aren't seeing him," Kallie said gushingly, throwing a rock at the river with weak-willed intention. "I mean—the way you guys stared at each other! Even _I_ had chills!"

"We're not together," I told her, shrugging at the disbelieving look she threw me. "What? I'm telling the truth!"

Kallie shook her head, taking another rock and throwing it as hard as she could. It didn't skip, like we'd been doing for the past hour, but it certainly scared a few birds when it sailed straight through the leaves of a nearby tree. "I just wish Embry would look at me like that." She sighed.

The girl was completely smitten with Embry, and it reminded me of Kim in freshman year, before Jared started looking at her in the same light. "You know, maybe he would if you'd actually just _talk_ to him."

"B—But what if Jacob makes fun of me?"

"I'll beat the living crap out of him, duh," I told her, looking like she'd spoke blasphemy at me. What kind of best friend did she take me for? A cheap one? "He knows not to mess with me, especially when it comes to my only friend."

Kallie rolled her eyes, looking up from the plethora of rocks under her feet to spare me a fleeting, laughing glance. "Jacob's, like, _huge_ though. And you're, like, yay-feet high." She demonstrated, raising to just her waist.

I pantomimed a laugh, using my hand to create a mock-talking gesture. "Ha-ha-ha, very funny. I'm a bit taller than Peter Dinklage, thank you."

We continued to skip rocks in silence, both too absorbed in our attempts to multiply our skips than to attempt and ride along a conversation. I had managed to finally obtain eight skips on one go when Kallie cleared her throat. I looked over, hair obscuring my face.

"He must really care about you, to risk expulsion like that," she said quietly. And I could tell she really meant the words, because she moved my hair back from my face and smiled at me. And the smile screamed reassurance, unlike Jeremiah's, which called for a red flag and a blast of concern. "I'm happy for you."

I raised my hand, and grasped tight onto Kallie's, flashing her a brief, grateful grin. "You're, like, totally the best. And come tomorrow, I'll be your wing-woman and tell Embry just how good you are at cliff-diving and gymnastics in the bedroom—"

"Oh my God, Alissa, I literally _hate you."_

"Even Pinocchio could tell that's a lie."

And when she threw a rock at me, I could hardly care, because I was laughing, and I felt like the world was infinite as she began to laugh too.

I was sitting at the dinner-table, pushing around a piece of pasta, thinking about the way a pair of certain brown eyes made me feel, when I felt my Dad hovering beside me. I didn't hide my smirk as I flicked my gaze up to look at him.

"Whatcha need, Papa-bear?"

Dad looked embarrassed, in a totally unlike-Dad way. Dad didn't feel _embarrassment._ He was usually the one embarrassing, not the other way around. Though, I was uncertain what had embarrassed him. Maybe a gentlewomanly caller? "I need to ask you a favor."

That wasn't expected. And it didn't answer why his face was about a dozen shades of pink. "What's that favor?" I was beside myself with intrigue.

"I need you to take this package down to the Blacks' house," he said slowly, like it hurt for him to get the words out. Like father, like daughter, because Dad, too, held a strong rivalry with the Blacks. Though, his feelings were much stronger for Billy than they were Jacob, unlike I, who held affection for the older man. A kind of affection I didn't let my Dad have influence over. Jacob was like fleas—couldn't get rid of him, no matter how hard I tried. "It was on my front porch this morning. And I know that damned man is just trying to get me to show up at his own porch with it."

"So you want me, his son's arch-nemesis, to do it instead?" I raised an eyebrow, entirely deadpan. Billy loved me, but Jacob wanted to kill me, and I'd rather live, thank-you-very-much.

Dad scrunched up his face, looking lost for words. "When you put it that way, it sounds just as awful," he said, with a sigh. "I can't do it. And Jared isn't here, so he can't do it."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know why I put up with you," I said dramatically, feigning a groan. "But I guess I'll do it. Just because you're my dad."

Dad's eyes lit up, and it made me feel a tad bit better about what I was about to do. Even though I still wanted to punch a wall for going anywhere near Jacob Black. "Thank you, sweetheart," he said, placing a sweet kiss on my forehead. "Be safe!"

Grabbing hold of the box with one hand, I used my other to fall into a mock-salute. "Ai-ai, Captain." I winked, then headed out the door. I was definitely not looking forward to this, but I supposed there were _worse_ situations to find myself in, like waking up in the same bed as Jacob Black.

I shuttered. _Definitely_ worse situations.

It was just a ten-minute walk to Jacob Black's house, so I didn't bother starting my car, as that just wasted fuel, and I was a cheapskate when it came to my gas tank. Jacob's house was a quaint little place, red as a barnyard and totally unsuspecting. And by totally unsuspecting, I mean you wouldn't know a complete asshole lived there!

Biting back my dignity, and any mean retorts that would definitely leave me at the mere sighting of Jacob Black, I walked up the stairs and to the door. And I knocked.

I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But there was no answer.

I knocked again, this time more furiously. I waited again, this time more anxiously. After a plethora of repeats, I discovered that Billy Black was MIA. Or sleeping. Either one. Whichever one.

I disliked both options. They both meant I'd be here a while, or have to go home, tail tucked between my legs.

And I was leaning more towards the last idea, essentially realizing I preferred my house over this farm-looking alternative, but the sound of chitchat and laughter made my blood curdle and eyes widen.

I didn't want to go home with this stupid package in my hands. And Dad definitely didn't want it anywhere near his house, if the embarrassed look on his face had any say in it.

I tromped down the stairs, then walked around the staircase, following the sound of voices. I came across a garage, with a beat-up truck parked haphazardly near it. I frowned, nose twitching at the sight, only turning away when I felt myself to begin preparing the paint-jobs of the sad vehicle and my own car. I then looked towards the garage.

Inside of it was a pale, unfamiliar girl who looked like she came from Forks, and Jacob Black.

I grinned. _This_ should be fun.

"Oh, _hey_ , Jacob," I called out, feeling a bit scared by the utterly angry glare he shot me. Had I interrupted something? Totally accidental! "Fancy seeing you here." I laughed, obnoxiously, knowing full-well he probably wanted to shoot me in the foot with a machine-gun.

"This is my house," Jacob said, through gritted teeth. He was definitely restraining myself; there was no other explanation for why he looked so damn constipated. "What are you _doing_ here?"

I held up a finger, then looked down at the package. It had already been opened once, so it wouldn't hurt to open it twice, right? I tore the tape with one of my finger nails, and haphazardly popped open the tabs, nearly dropping the box in my attempts. What I saw inside had me gaping.

It was a pair of bubblegum-pink capris. And on top was a note, written in chicken-scratch scrawl: _I saw these, and they made me think of you. I know how you struggle to express your true self._

I couldn't help it. I fucking burst out laughing. "Oh my _God,_ dude, your dad's my idol. He's a freakin' comedian."

Jacob raised an eyebrow, looking less angry and more intrigued now, and he just shrugged at the pale-faced girl when she stared cluelessly at him. He stood from where he was sitting and strode out of the garage.

Still hunched over, still breathless with laughter, I handed over the package. Jacob took it wordlessly.

"What— _oh my God._ I watched him pick these out. I thought it was for a present to send to one of my sisters." Jacob scrunched up his face, letting out a laugh.

"It's fucking comedy-gold," I wheezed out, tears appearing in my eyes. I was literally aching from the laughter. The feeling of two pairs of eyes had me regaining composure, however, and I had to force myself to clear my throat, because I was just _dying_ to know the name of the only girl I'd ever seen Jacob willingly speak to. "Sorry, uh, I'm Alissa. Alissa Cameron."

The girl was awkward; I could tell she had no sense of social direction, because she raised a hand, giving it a sad, clumsy wave, and smiled lopsidedly. _Did she know any social cues_? I couldn't help but wonder. "Bella Swan."

I blanched. I remembered Bella; me and Jacob were her playmates as children, though Jacob utilized me as a source of embarrassment, which he thought to be the ultimate tool for attaining affection when it came to cold-as-stone Isabella's heart, something that made me learn early on to avoid the two and continue following my brother around. It was weird to see her now—pale as a ghost, all awkward, clumsy frame and no character whatsoever. It made me eyeball her for a second, totally confused.

Jacob nudged her, muttering, "She made mud-pies with us when we were kids."

"Oh!" Bella's face brightened, and her mouth curved up into a smile. It was a very awkward one, but I expected nothing more and nothing less. What I didn't expect was the eagerness in her expression; what did she have to be so eager about? "We should hang out sometime."

I raised an eyebrow, looking at Jacob. He seemed very unhappy. And if he seemed unhappy, that meant for me to feel sheer glee. And I totally did. "Oh, uh, okay. When?"

Bella didn't seem to expect my agreement, because she opened and closed her mouth wordlessly. "Well, Jake's fixing up some bikes for us to try out soon. He's almost got them finished. You can come with, if you want."

I surreptitiously glanced at Jacob, seeing the way he clenched his jaw and his fists as Bella spoke. He did _not_ want me to join them. Which was the ultimate reason why I said what I did.

"Oh, _hell_ yes."


	3. Chapter III

CHAPTER III: WHEN I SAY RUN, I MEAN WALK

 ** _"I'M AN IDIOT, DAD,"_** I said the minute I walked through the door.

Dad was sitting on the living room couch, sifting through a leather-bound book that looked like it belonged to a medieval decade. Just seconds after I walked in, he glanced up, pushing at his reading glasses as he peered nervously over them. "Did you get rid of it?" he asked. I was sure he'd become paranoid Billy would pop out of nowhere at that moment, bearing another pair of pastel-colored bottoms as a mocking prize.

I rolled my eyes. Suddenly, I wished I had kept the pants because wow, did he really just ignore me? Pretend I didn't speak? "I did. I'm surprised you didn't keep his gift, though. I'm sure pink would look marvelous with your tan," I told him, motioning up and down my own legs for emphasis.

A look of great distaste overcame the nervous disinterest once occupying his face. "I see why you and Billy get along," he said rather drily, before turning his attention back to the leather-bound book. You see, my father worked in the reservation's archives; a perfect career for someone as quiet and studious as Dad. He also did writing on the side, but that's a story for another time, no pun intended. No one needs to know the lengthy, tedious details behind Dad's work as a novelist. He was a very smart cookie, and if I wasn't so frustrated with him two-thirds of the time, maybe I would have felt proud of the man.

I crossed my arms, and began a steady rhythm of tapping my feet. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. I vowed to myself—I'd keep doing this until Dad would look up and inquire as to the look on my face. If he didn't do as wanted, maybe I'd press a sneaker-clad foot onto a sock-clad one. Armor against cloth. A war that I, the great Alissa Cameron, was destined to win.

Dad finally looked up when I got to my eighth interval of tapping. He looked annoyed, and I was sure the smug expression on my face was making his blood curdle. "Can I help you?" he asked. It came out aggravated. I wondered to myself, Do I risk his wrath, or get out while I still can?

I came to a conclusion; I wanted to vent to somebody about the sorry mess I was in, and I couldn't do it with Kallie since she was visiting a cousin this weekend, and I sure as fuck wasn't going to talk to Jared, so that left only one option (available option, if I counted Paul Lahote, the asshat); my stern, emotionless workaholic of a Dad.

I smiled, maybe a bit too wide. "Well... I need advice."

Dad was not enthused. "I'm an archivist, Alissa—not a psychologist."

"I know," I said, curling my arms behind my back. "I know, I know, I know... butttt, you are super-smart. So you definitely can give me some advice."

Dad rolled his eyes, but set his book to the side; I counted that as a win-win. "Go on."

"I accidentally made plans with Jacob and his pale-faced girlfriend—more like the Estella to his Pip, but we'll pretend they're together—and I regret it. How do you break plans when you only made the plans ten minutes ago?" I said quickly, not stopping to breathe.

There was a point of silence after that. Dad was merely staring at over his glasses, and if I had to guess, I'd say he was speechless. Partially speechless. Of course, he had to reply—it was in the code for fathers to respond to their children in their time of need, after all. "I didn't know you read," the asshole said, looking stunned—fucking stunned!

"Of course I read! I only have one friend, and she's off hanging with her family most of the time I'm awake," I said angrily.

"You do sleep a fair amount," Dad said.

"That doesn't excuse her from friendship duties," I said condescendingly. "Did you forget the rules of friendship after Billy decided he liked Quil's granddad better than you and your mopey attitude?"

Dad wasn't fazed, and I wasn't surprised. It took a lot to trigger the man's anger. I never had the pleasure of laying witness to it—not that I was disappointed, or anything. Well, maybe a little bit. He just raised an eyebrow at me. "Why did you make friends with Jacob Black? I thought you 'despised him with a fervent, skull-rattling passion.'" He made the quotation marks, which only added to the amount of self-loathing boiling in my stomach.

I shrugged and said, "He looked mad as hell when Bella offered, so I let it happen! Curse me and my stubborn, tension-loving ass!"

Dad seemed disinterested with the direction in which this conversation was going, so I really wasn't surprised when he picked up his book and started flipping through the pages again. The glass in his eyeglasses glinted off the ceiling fan's light, and when he heard no footsteps, he turned his critical, ever-so-calculating gaze onto me. "You might as well go with them," he told me. "Don't you usually jump for joy when you get the opportunity to outwit him?"

My jaw dropped. "OMG, Dad," I whispered, looking at him with a newfound fondness that the world would never see on my face again. "You're so freakin' right. I can make that asshole regret the day he ever thought to throw that mudpie at me. Thanks a bunch, Dad! You. Are. The. Best!" I swooped down to plant a firm, sloppy kiss on his stubbly cheek, then practically flounced up the stairs, so locked in my own thoughts that I barely heard my father say, "Kids these days."

Three days later, on January 23rd, I decided that I wanted to do something stupid. So stupid, in fact, that when I told Kallie about it, she called a reckless, adrenaline-addicted idiot. Well, no, that's what I told myself. Kallie didn't really have an opinion; she never did when it came to me doing stupid shit, and usually she just joined in.

I wanted to go cliff-diving.

And not just cliff-diving. I wanted to jump from the very top—not from the lower level, like all the popular kids did from Forks High and my own high school. It wasn't me being desperate to prove something—or maybe it was, and I was just in denial of it—but was just me loving the thrill that accompanied risky endeavors. This was extremely risky, but I was eager to fulfill that small part of jumping for joy when it came to doing idiot things.

Kallie had told me over the phone, "You really do have it out for yourself, don't you?" I assumed that meant she was indifferent, and was certainly not gonna risk her ass for a lowly peasant like me.

Imagine my surprise when I was huffing and putting up the hill leading to La Push's Cliff of Death, and I saw Kallie dangling her feet over the edge, scantily-clad and whistling a tune.

"Dude, what the fuck!" I gasped.

Kallie turned her head, and a whole thing of hair fell right in her eyes. She couldn't remove her hands from the edge, however, so she just left it there and cheerfully said, "Hey, Ali! You seem tired. I thought you said you army-crawl whenever you have to go up steep hills?"

I opened and closed my mouth. Wow, she really got me there. "Well, I lied," I settled for, then hastily added, "I thought you weren't coming! I woulda wore a freaking bathing suit if I thought I had someone to look nice for!"

Kallie rolled her eyes. "You mean Paul?"

"I can't believe you'd speak blasphemy at me like this," I said, feigning a look of astonishment. "I thought we had something special."

"My heart lies with only one person, and that person is not you, my love."

"That pet name says differently."

"Stop hounding shit over me, Al! It's so rude."

I cheesed, hard. "Wow, I knew you were an asshole, but a hypocrite too? Dang."

Kallie looked ready to retort, but her jaw went slack. She scowled. "You win this round, but mark my words..." She waggled a finger threateningly at my.

"Alright, alright—just get up! We gotta get this show on the round," I said demandingly, letting the excitement thrum through my fingers as I got hyped, hyped, hyped. And I held out a hand. I was suddenly grateful that Kallie was here; if she wasn't, I probably would have gotten scared and decided nope, not for me.

Kallie swung her legs around from the cliff edge, then made to get up—but the grass of the cliff was wet with the dewy residue that accompanied gloomy days, and I could only feel the horror as it swept through my bloodstream the minute she slipped—and then I was sprinting towards her. At the last second I managed to grab her around the waist, and even though it hurt my arms and legs at the resounding impact I made with the watery ground, it made it where Kallie's legs were the only part of her dangling from the edge. As the adrenaline washed through me, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

"Oh my god, Kallie, I just had a freaking heart attack!" I said breathily, voice like a flutter of wind as it hit the atmosphere, as I struggled to get my heartbeat and breathing under control.

From behind, before Kallie could counter with her own comment, I heard footsteps approach. And then a familiar voice. "You and me both."

Both Kallie and I turned our heads, leaning back to the point where we were nearly laying on the cold, hard grass. I looked up into the dark, stormy sky, and saw a face I wished I could wipe from memory. Of course, the asshole who witnessed our near descent into deadly terrain was Jared. Who else would it have been?

I spoke too soon, because Jared wasn't alone. He had Sam, Paul, and—wait, is that Embry? I shook my head, tried to clear my vision, but the picture was still the same. It was Embry, but his hair was cropped short and he was a lot taller and broader than I remembered. I looked between the foursome with an expression resembling that of a trapped, aggressive Yorkie. I say Yorkie because I sure as fuck wasn't a Pitbull.

"What brings you to our humble abode, a la La Push Beach?" I asked, trying, and failing, to bring the attention away from our near-death experience with my humor. It only made the boys frown harder. Or maybe it was a smile. I couldn't really tell, from my position here on the ground.

"You shouldn't be here, Alissa. And what were you trying to do? Cliff-dive? You could die from that. And you nearly fucking did! Both of you. The two of you need to go home. Now."

I furrowed my brow into a glare. Who did he think he was, scolding me? My father? He was hardly a speck of matter in orbit. "We can share the cliff," I said slowly, letting all my anger seep out, replaced by a bitter resentment it took years to build. "Or would you rather I take my chances and span the ocean?"

Jared narrowed his eyes, threateningly. "I'm your brother, Alissa. You should listen to me."

"Should is a lot different of a word to will, brother dearest, though I suppose they share the same meaning in that tiny brain of yours," I spat out. "I could hardly fucking care what you think."

I tugged Kallie up, looking at her for the first time since she nearly fell. She had an expression that almost reminded me of a beaten, terrified puppy. She huddled close to me, as though I was the only thing keeping her tied to this world, and the words I was thinking died in my mouth. I was ready to prove Jared a point by not heeding his words and jumping anyway, but I could tell Kallie was shaken by what just happened. It would be heartless of me to drag her down to the crashing waves below when all she really needed was a good action movie and triple-cheese pizza.

I turned to look at Jared. Another glare formed. "You need to keep your nose out of my business, okay? And stop pretending you care. Obviously you don't."

"Alissa, don't provoke him," Sam Uley warned, standing there beside Paul, looking as solemn as a fucking funeral moderator.

I couldn't help the near-hysterical laugh that left me. "Provoke him?" I scoffed. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. And though a part of me insisted this was Samuel Uley—the person I wished I had the courage to punch in the nose for taking Jared away from me—and there was no reason why I should comply with anything he wanted, another part, a smarter part, wasn't ready to see just what would happen if I truly did push Jared beyond his limit. So I resorted to shaking my head. "What the fuck ever. C'mon, Kallie." I gently nudged the girl forward. But she wasn't moving. I pressed a little harder. "Kallie."

Then I saw what was causing her to be immobile. And I nearly groaned in exasperation.

Embry Call was staring at her. His jaw was slackened, and he barely seemed to acknowledge the looks of surprise that his colleagues were throwing him. I tried to decode what I saw in his eyes. But I couldn't. It seemed the only person with eyes I could read so easily was Paul Lahote, and I labeled that down to him being an open book—

Wait. I saw this look once before. On Paul's face. Which meant, if I was being accurate in my observations, that Embry was feeling the same longing and regret that Paul had felt while looking at me. What the hell made the two of them have similar molds that accompanied their feelings? What the hell was going on?

I tugged a little harder on Kallie, and was satisfied when she startled. Her gaze dropped from Embry and over to me, which seemed to snap the new recruit from his own trance. When he saw the looks he was getting from all around, he retreated into himself, like he could feel the judgment.

A part of me was morbidly curious. But I'd save that dying desperation for another, much-less-intense day.

"Well, adios, mi not-so-small amigos," I farewelled, trying my hardest not to make eye-contact with Paul. Doing good, doing great, doing marvelous—fuck! I looked at him. Way to go, dumbass. "Catch ya on the flip side."

"Be safe," Jared said. If I wasn't so dead-set in feigning ignorance to my empathy, maybe I would have felt bad for the kicked-puppy look in his eyes. But again, I reminded myself—He's being an asshole. Maybe if he gives you an explanation, you can try emphasizing. But only then.

Sam gave a head-nod that I couldn't bring myself to return. He had an air to him that I was unable to place, and that made me angry.

Paul could only stare. He had the same expression he did that day in the cafeteria, one that screamed a monologue that was both endearing and frustrating to no end.

Embry was still shocked. And he was still reveling in his embarrassment. I could tell by the faint redness in his tanned-and-toned cheeks.

I looked my arm around Kallie's, using my other as a vessel for a final goodbye. And the two of us trudged far, far away—until I covered enough distance to mutter in Kallie's ear, "That was some mighty miserable eye-sex if I'd ever seen some."

Author's Note: Hey, guys! Just wanted to give a major thank-you to all you wonderful people favoriting, following, and reviewing my work!! That makes me feel all mushy and gushy inside, to tell you the truth C: I didn't want Kallie to stay on the sidelines because I luv her sm so I forced her into being a part of the supernatural world I'm sorry

Give me thoughts on whether you all would want to see either Kallie or Alissa as a supernatural character? Or do you want Alissa to shift? Would you like Alissa or Kallie to interact with the Cullens? I'd love to hear what you guys think! Another big thanks to everyone who's reviewed the last two chapters, and I hope you all will stay for the ride as we further venture into Alissa's story!

See y'all next time! :)


	4. Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV: BUT DID U DIE?

I was doing my best not to feel nervous while waiting on the side of the road for a familiarly-beaten Chevy pickup, but it was pretty hard to be calm and collected when I'd spent all of last-night researching into pictures of motorbike accidents and statistical data for motorbike crash deaths. Of course, I only had myself to blame for the anxiety I had about today, but if asked, I'd only claim that I've had a lifelong phobia of motorcycles. The only good thing about humans was that they couldn't tell whether you were lying, unless you had the inherent ability to expose yourself through stutters and flickering gazes.

Speaking of terrible liars—I had a hunch that Bella was one of them. From what I gathered during our first meeting, she didn't seem very cunning. I couldn't deduce from a single chat whether she was clever (we had only exchanged slight pleasantries, which amounted to a very few sentences) so I didn't have the best data to go on, but mark my words—Bella was a bad liar, and I'd learn to what extent it went by the end of our motorbike date.

Third-wheeling a date between someone infatuated and someone oblivious. I never thought I'd have to endure something so hilariously awkward, but I supposed there was a first time for everything. As such, I wasn't expecting to be going somewhere willingly with Jacob Black, yet here I was.

Talk about a twist of events.

It was pathetically obvious that I had tried with my appearance. There was literally no reason to get dressed up for hanging out with two people I hardly even knew—let alone, cared about the opinions of—but what they didn't know, and what I probably wouldn't tell them, was that I somehow managed to score a date with Tommy Long's older sister, Roxanne. I realized the best approach to escaping Jared's radar was to avoid being home, avoid getting dressed with him in the vicinity of the house, and to be picked up from a neutral spot. Kallie didn't have a car, and I had to share my car with Dad (who sometimes stayed home for his work, but mostly had to drive to the archives during the week) so I was going to have Bella drop me off at Irma's Diner whenever we finished up with the bikes. Hopefully it'd be around 5—the time Roxanne and I agreed on—but if it was earlier, or later, I didn't really care. What I did care about was slipping under Jared's nose.

Really, this date with Roxanne wasn't so much of a date as it was an experiment. She needed a tutor for English, and just-so-happens, I was incredibly good at English. What I wanted from this "date" was to see if Jared was stalking me, or keeping tabs, or doing something that allowed him to keep me single as a Pringle. I was suspicious of him, considering he was everywhere I went, always knowing about my dates and putting a stop to them before I even had the chance to open the door and get into their cars. How the fuck did he know me and Kallie were at La Push beach? How'd he know I was going on a date with Joshua from science when I kept it quiet and got ready at Kallie's house? I was sick of this shit.

It made me wonder—if Paul and I ever got to trying a relationship, would Jared try sabotaging that, too? I could only wonder.

Before I could further isolate myself into my thoughts, I saw Bella's truck pull around the forested street corner, her face visible to the brightly-lit front-window. She had a tentative smile on her face, and when she threw up a hand outside of the side-door's window, I threw one back up; without Jacob yet in the vehicle, I had every reason to be polite.

When I hopped in the front, Bella threw me a look. It seemed a twist between hesitance and determination. Weird. I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Uh, that seat's..." She stopped herself.

"What? Dirty? Wow, I feel. My dad spilled coffee in the passenger seat yesterday, and I've been feeling a little irritated ever since—"

"No, it's not that," Bella said, and she sounded rather... snappish. It made my smile drop, and my eyes cut towards her. "That's Jacob's seat."

It took a minute for me to absorb her words, and to recognize them as an implication—but boy, when the realization hit, I could feel the steam coming out of my ears. "Oh, hold—hold up. You expect me... to sit in the back?" I laughed. "You're fucking crazy. This is a freakin' three-seater!"

Bella flinched. "Jacob said he won't come if you're sitting beside him," she said quickly. "I'm sorry!"

Well. I should have expected that. Jacob went from picking at me to hating the very sight of me, so I'd have to go with the latter as his feelings for me today. He probably had a right laugh when Bella agreed to have me sit in the trunk; I bet he took a peak at this week's weather, and was even more determined. Cold and gloomy; the kind of weather I was always complaining about in class.

I stuck with my wits, though, and let my eyes slant into a deadpan, are-you-serious? expression. "You're telling me... that you want to condemn me to the back—the back, where if it rains, I'll turn into a fucking mudpie—just because you want that oversized-donut of a dick-hole happy?"

Bella's face reddened—I really didn't understand why, but it may have had something to do with my unfiltered mouth—but she nodded anyway. I was sure she recognized this argument for as idiotic and childish as it really was, but she was too determined to have her precious Jake satisfied that she was going to disregard logic.

"You're a real peach," I drawled, deciding that if she was going to be like this with me, then I wasn't going to play nice like I told myself I would. The angry, chihuahua-like part of me was ready to rock and roll, utterly set on making today a living fucking nightmare for Jacob Black. With that satisfying thought in mind, I let a small smile slip through my exterior; no other words spared on the matter, I happily sentenced myself to my fate.

FFFFFFFFFFFFF

When we pulled up at Jacob's house, I jumped out of the truck and took my sweet-ass (I refused to admit that I was actually struggling) time to get up into the back. When I was finally there, I looked around, observing the spots of mud and slush that were telltale signs that when it rained, Bella didn't bother to clean her truck from the mudholes she encountered. If I got today's clothes dirty, I was certainly going to attempt the mass-homicide murder of Jacob and Bella. Did she even have a name for her truck? My car was named Lilly, against the recommendations of my Dad who wanted to name her Betty, and she had a "Shit Happens" sticker on the bumper. There was a little monkey in the decal holding his hands up in a What Can Ya Do? gestured.

Dad thought it was downright juvenile. But what did he know? Buzzkills have no sense of humor. Why else did he hate Billy's gift?

As Jacob got into the truck, he wasted no time in shooting me a wicked grin. It made me drop my suave act enough just to scowl and claw at the air. If he wanted to antagonize me, then I'd waste no time in returning the favor, dammit!

Billy's house was about ten minutes away La Push Beach, and Bella mentioned that she was going to a road about two minutes from there, so I was assuming this would be a brief, twelve-minute drive. When Bella started up the truck, I nearly flinched, and I held tight onto the sides. This bitch did not know how to drive, if she thought you kicked the engine like that. Or maybe this truck was just fucking broken.

About eight minutes into the trip, I saw the eclipsing image of La Push's cliff on the horizon. I flashed back to the other day when Kallie and I were going to go balls-deep and risk broken bones for a thrill, and then Jared and his stupid posse showed up! Wow, I really just wanted to punch him. That's probably the reason I was pretending me and Roxanne had a "date" this evening, and I'd brag about it to Jared later if it went swimmingly. If he found out I actually managed to go through with one, he'd be livid. I couldn't miss the temper tantrum that would certainly accompany it. That'd just be sad.

Bella opened the window, and yelled out of it, "Hold on!" But she was a bit behind on the memo, because I didn't get a chance to hold onto anything; before I could panic and save myself from the impending doom, Bella was swerving the car hard, and I was moving along with it, my head slamming into the side which I was meant to hold onto. I could feel a ringing start in my head, ears searing from this foreign feeling, and I could hear myself grunt and groan, and if this were any other place, I might have even cried.

But Jacob was here. And well... I didn't feel like crying in front of my sworn arch-enemy. He could use that against me, after all.

The truck skidded to an abrupt stop, and doors slammed as the driver and the passenger hopped right out. I used the hand not groping my head to mindlessly palm at the side metal, grabbing it tight as I pulled myself into a slumped position. "Ow..." I groaned. This sucked. I should have fought harder to be in the front seat if Bella's atrocious driving was gonna put my fucking life at risk.

"Alissa, are you okay?" Bella cried, pulling out the trunk door so I wouldn't have to hop off the side. I was tired, however. I didn't feel like getting up and getting out, for whatever the fuck it was that had Bella freaking out. This bullshit was getting to be too much for me; I wasn't sure I'd be able to actively pursue a friendship with someone that didn't know her ass from her elbow when it came to common, everyday sense.

"Does it fucking look like I'm okay?" I snarled at her. I pulled my hand from my head, and I felt even more anger boil deep in me at the sight of _red_ covering my palm. "Fucking hell. Did your mother ever reach you how to properly park a vehicle?!"

Jacob slammed his hand on the truck's side, and I felt the truck move, alongside me and my own body. My head lolled from side to side, a sensation that made me sick when it rattled the piece of me already half-broken. "Don't talk to her like that," he echoed Paul's words from the cafeteria.

"I'll talk to her however I fucking like," I said bitterly, giving him a look that _dared_ him to contradict my words. When he stayed silent, a steady look of disdain on his face, I turned my attention over to the pallid girl beside him. "What the fuck had you stop, anyway?"

Bella's eyes lit up, and her mouth formed an 'o'. "Oh—" She hurried away from the truck, and she near-instantaneously disappeared from sight. Jacob followed suit.

"Aw, fuck," I said, placing my hand back on the side of my head as I scouted my body across the truck's terrain. I felt rocks drag themselves along with my long-ways blouse, most definitely tearing the shirt at its seams, but I didn't regard them with any significance. I could easily buy another blouse, and I could easily schedule my study date with Roxanne another day.

I was too curious to see what Bella failed to mention. Was there another dead hiker on the side of the road?

Gravity pulled me swiftly to the ground, and if I were a cup of water, I would have sloshed my innards out and toppled over. Thankfully, due to a steady pair of legs that belonged to yours truly, I was able to stay standing. I refused to stop and take a breath—I'd live, if this did cost me anything—so I scurried over to the front of the truck, where a pair of assholes were standing, the shorter, less-shapely one pointing at something beyond the crashing waters below the road.

If I squinted, I could see the barest outlines of four boys on the cliff.

Paul.

Sam.

Embry.

Jared.

"That's what worked you up?" I asked furiously, my angry gaze remaining with Jared as two of the boys rough-house and throw him off the cliff. Even from here, you could hear the hooting. I felt wistful about the fun they were having; instead of getting a good day out of the house, I was aching and shivering. "God, you're so fucking stupid."

Bella flushed deeply, looking at me with a guilty face that screamed, " _I know I'm stupid!_ " "I'm sorry—" she started again, but I scoffed. And I was pleased with myself when it made her stop talking. Score one for Team Alissa.

Alissa, 1.

Bella, -5.555555.

Jacob's gaze was more reproachful than it was neutral, which meant the more I insulted and hurt Bella, the more angry he'd get. And well, I didn't appreciate being slung around and sustaining an injury while she was unharmed; if it took one hell of a verbal ass-whooping to bring her down to my level of pain, then well—who was stopping me? The power of Jacob and his mechanic biceps? No-sir-ree-Bob.

"They're not actually fighting," I told Bella, my superiority-complex coming in clutch with the patronizing tone my voice took with her. "They're cliff-diving. I'm sure you know what that is."

Bella flinched. "Cliff-diving... on purpose?"

Jacob jumped in; "Ah, it's scary as hell, but it's a total rush."

An adrenaline rush. We watched as one of the boys—I could tell from here it was Paul, just by the familiar whoops he made as he began to jog faster to the edge—threw himself into the air, then spun off to the water below, twisting and performing cartwheels on the way down. I pursed my lips, then wondered—Wow, could I do that, too? Or was this an ability that was for hotties only.

Jacob nudged Bella in the shoulder. "Most of us jump from lower down."

Bella had a contemplative look on her face. She looked at him hopefully. "Think I could?"

I scoffed. "Are you an adrenaline junkie or something? I mean, Jesus—motorcycles, then cliffs..."

Bella quietly said, "It seems fun."

Jacob rolled his eyes, more for my comments than at Bella's expense. "Maybe on a warmer day. And not from the top. We'll leave the showing off to Sam and his disciples."

There's that bitter edge again. I remembered the dislike he had for Sam and them; sad thing was, Embry had the same dislike for them. And now he was part of their clique. It just didn't feel right. But I couldn't put my finger on a right answer.

Bella frowned at Jacob. "You don't like them."

Another scowl, destination: Jacob's face. "They think they run this place. Acting all badass, calling themselves 'protectors.'"

"What are they protecting?" Bella asked. She seemed confused.

"The tribe, the land, their right to be jerks. Embry used to call them hall monitors on steroids; now look at him." That same look of disdain that Jacob had a habit of giving me was back on his face.

I laughed aloud, bringing the two's attention back to me. "They're not on steroids, dumbass. If that was the case of their little pack, Embry would be a lot broader," I said. I still had my hand on my head, not wanting to risk an onslaught of blood when my eyesight was on the line.

Bella shook her head, but held a determined glint in her eyes. She looked to Jacob— "What happened to him?" she asked.

Jacob looked like he was in pain. "He missed some school - then, out of nowhere, he's following Sam around. Same thing happened with Paul and Jared. They weren't even friends, and now—Sam owns them." Jacob shook his head. "Sam keeps giving me this look, like he's waiting for me or something; it's kinda freaking me out."

Bella suggested, "Maybe you should just avoid him."

Jacob shrugged, before quietly saying, "I try but..." He was staring over at the rowdy two that remained from the once-foursome.

Bella pulled him into a side-hug. It felt very friend-zone-ish. "Hey. If it gets worse, we'll go to my Dad. Or you can come stay with us."

Wow, were they having a moment? Wouldn't it be a shame if—

"Hey, if they do get you, I'm sure you'll be a lot more attractive. You're kind of ugly now. When Paul changed, he went from cute to hella hot. If Sam recruits you, you should be thankful." I grinned.

Jacob shot me a sneer, as Bella jumped back out from Jacob's arms. She saw his anger smack-dab on his face, and quickly pulled on his arm—yanking him towards the truck. The angry look still remained.

I looked back towards the cliff. I could see Sam already looking in my direction. His attention was on Bella's back. With a jolly grin that came with provoking Jacob, I gave the scary-lookin' man a wave.

He waved back. And the wave didn't feel hostile, as I assumed it would be. I didn't know Sam very well, but he knew my heritage, so maybe the friendly gesture was because of Jared.

Regardless, I felt very pleased with myself.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFF

Once I was seated in Bella's truck, able to enjoy front-seat privileges now that I was injured, I told the driver, "Take me back to my house, please." If I was going to bleed all over the place, then I wanted to do in the safety of my own home. Besides, fuck hospitals; I'd rather bleed out and die in the grass than go anywhere near one.

Those were the wrong words to say. Jacob turned and gave me a nasty glare. "What? Why?!"

"Because I'm hurt! Duh!" I pointed at my head, making the mistake to remove my bloody hand from said injury. I hissed; that shit hurt. If I didn't get this looked at, I was definitely risking passing out. Also, I needed a change of clothes. A lot of the blood that leaked from my wound aligned down the left side of my head, and my collar was stained red because of it. How smashingly chic.

Bella looked at me for a moment, that same sorry look on her face, and then she turned on the engine. "Okay," she said quietly. She'd probably jump off a fucking cliff for me just to lessen the guilt.

Jacob spluttered, pointing at me and then at her, before he went completely silent. His arms were crossed, and he had an angry look on his face. He was totally throwing a temper tantrum. What a little baby.

Bella reversed out from the slot of land, then starting driving in the direction we were already going. We didn't get very far, though, before... _someone walked out into the road._

A yelp left Bella's lips, and she came to a sudden stop that had all of us jolting forward. I hit my head again. That was a beautiful consequence that came with not having a seatbelt on. I groaned aloud, murmured a soft, "Fuck," and shook off the pain so I could see who had walked in front of the truck.

Oh, fuck. My eyes went wide with fear.

It was Paul.

 _Well, this just got interesting._

FFFFFFFFFFFFF

A/N: I will be counting up votes for whether you want Alissa to shift, so make sure to add your input! :) I hope you guys like the story so far, and it will definitely be getting faster in pace since we're now actually in the events of New Moon. If you want Alissa to be friends with Bella, just tell me; otherwise, I'll probably make her enemies with the girl lmao.

Love y'all! Your reviews and favorites and follows mean the absolute world 2 me ,)


	5. Chapter V

CHAPTER V: La Push's Resident Hothead

 **It didn't take very long for both** Bella and Jacob to pinpoint the blame on me. After all, Paul's angry, fierce gaze was _burning holes_ into the side of my head—the very side that hurt like a bitch—and the crossed-arm, jutted-out-hip look really just made him seem menacing. Truth be told, if I had my car stopped in the middle of the road by a shirtless, _hella_ -hot bodybuilder, I would probably die. A thousand times. In a thousand different ways. I could be very creative when I wanted to be.

In a good, _on-the-verge-of-literal-death_ way, though. I could tell by the panic in Bella's eyes that she was fearing for her life right about now.

"Go see what he wants, Cameron," Jacob whispered, putting a hand on Bella's shoulder. Of course—go and comfort the one with a perfectly intact scalp, rather than the girl _bleeding the fuck out._

Rather than make a remark about this, I instead centered him with a leveled look of _bliss;_ it had always been a dream of mine for Jacob to get on Paul's bad side. Maybe today was my lucky day. Would he knock a tooth loose like he nearly did Jeremiah? That'd sure be a sight to see. Even though Paul and Jacob were of equal size, Paul had a better fighting background, and it wouldn't take long for the uglier of the two to be flat on his back, crying out for mercy.

I flashed my teeth at Jacob, then looked at Bella. "Why don't you go, Bella? You do have a thing for guys who'll show you attention." I blinked innocently, smiling so wide that my jaw began to ache. It was worth it, though, when a flash of hurt swept by on her face. "Oh, or maybe not. I forget; maybe it was just guys who pretend to care that really get you going."

"Get the hell out and see what he wants," barked a steaming-cold ( _Hot? He wishes!_ ) Jacob. When I glanced over at him, I could see that he was nearly shaking with rage, a look of utter distaste in his eye. He really didn't like me, and I supposed that hurting his little pale-faced girlfriend only strengthened that dislike. "Now."

"Of course, Jake!" I said, faking enthusiasm. "And if he asks—I'll tell him _you_ got my face to look like this. He'll have a fun time making the two of us twinsies. Not like you could get any uglier, though, huh?"

Jacob reached across me and unlatched the door, shoving it open; too caught in my amusement, I lost all reaction time, and this caused me to flail away from the seat. A part of my mind began to flood with self-resentment—no seatbelt, not even a smidgen of sensible judgment; no wonder I was in this predicament, on the brink of a secondary concussion, all because I had seventy-five-percent of my mind too occupied with provoking Jacob to think he might try and kill me!

Well, of course, this self-resentment spent a very brief time in my head, because before I could touch the ground—hands already grasping for some sort of handle or surface to elevate myself from a cold, gritty slab of blacktop— _someone_ saved me from my fate. I was mere inches away from slamming my face into the ground, when strong, muscled arms slithered around my armpits and hauled my torso up vertically. A taste of breathless adrenaline, a feeling I had experienced when first enduring my current head injury, was already set in place, numbing the area that was to experience fatal, future trauma, so now, I didn't feel much of anything. Except a strong sense of anxious butterflies wreaking havoc in my stomach.

And that feeling was because—

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Black?!" Paul Lahote snarled. He pulled me up until my feet were touching a flat surface; he pressed in a finger against my shoulder as though asking, "Can you stand?" and when I nodded my head against his shoulder, he fell back, until his heat disappeared completely. And I was left cold and bewildered, experiencing only _half_ of this stare-down, not willing to take a peek at what shadow was casted over Paul's face. "She could have gotten hurt even _worse_ ; are you a fucking idiot?"

"She's fine now, isn't she?" Jacob rolled his eyes, trying not to look scared—but I saw through his _Salty-Spitoon-tough_ persona. It was all in the eyes. He was absolutely terrified. "You caught her—"

"If it was anyone else, she'd be needing a hospital." Paul's tone was dark, angry.

"If it was—yeah, because you're such a _protector._ Get off your high horse, Lahote." Jacob threw Paul a dirty look. Bella was still in the driver's seat, looking between Jacob and Paul with wide, horrified eyes. "It was sheer luck you caught her."

"Yeah, and it'll be sheer luck if I don't punch you in the fucking _face_ for that comment," Paul growled in reply, stepping closer; I felt this, because the tremors of heat got thicker and more vibrant—and when I 'stumbled' back, a move I did to get purposefully closer, like the curious whore I was, I felt him _shaking_. Like he did in the cafeteria, after beating the holy fuck out of Jeremiah.

I decided this was the perfect time to step in.

"Okay, alright— _listen_ , boys." I probably looked like one hell of a sight to see, blood all over one side of my face and neck, like someone out of a freaking _horror_ movie, but this fight needed to stop before it turned from verbal to physical.

I would give a lung and a kidney to see Paul give Jacob a black eye, but while standing back and taking time to really _think_ about it, it occurred to me… this was the _chief's son._ There'd be repercussions between Paul's Dad and Billy if word got around back to them that the two were brawling. And I was sure Bella would immediately run and tell Jacob's Dad, since she had no sense of loyalty to Jacob's assaulter.

I looked between the two still in the vehicle. "How about… you shut the fuck up for once in your life, Jakey-boy, and _you,_ Bella, drive the two of you the fuck away from me." I smiled, fighting a grimace when I felt crusted blood move along with my jaw. I reached back a hand and patted what I thought was Paul's shoulder; turned out, it was his stomach. _Well_. I flushed and my smile turned into a flustered grin. "I'm sure Paul will take me to my Dad. And I'm sure my Dad will _love_ to chew out _your_ dadfor raising his son to be a behemoth."

I looked over at Paul. A part of me was curious how he got here so fast, after he'd been with his friends out by the cliffs, and I also couldn't quite grasp why he wasn't _soaking_ like expected from a dip at the cover. A part of me wondered if the reason why he came here to remove me from Jacob's presence was because Sam had seen me, and noticed the blood—but that could only be held accountable to 40/20 vision. Sam had to be incredibly perceptive to even notice it.

But there was no other reason for Paul being here. And I was flattered and a little bit relieved he came in the place of my brother. I wasn't sure I would have reacted very pleasantly if I had to speak or look at that boy.

Paul didn't return the look. He instead stared at Jacob and Bella, giving both a level expression that could only be described by one word: death. He was scowling. "Watch your back," he warned both, before walking to the woods he'd come running out of just moments before. He gave me a head-check when he saw I wasn't moving, and I hoped for the _life_ of me he didn't see the open-mouthed look I was giving his ass.

The subtle _smirk_ on his face, however, told me that I failed, and I was totally going to hear him gloat about it later.

Sparing both Bella and Jacob a look of similar darkness, equipped with my personal effect of sarcastic glee, I followed after Paul. It didn't take very long before slamming doors were heard; a brief moment, and the truck was rearing its ugly head. I listened to it grow quieter in the distance. The sound made me scowl, so lost in thoughts of anger, that I nearly fell head-first into Paul's back. I stopped, staring at the soft, tan skin with admiration, before the back was whirling around to reveal a stomach, and I was affixing my gaze onto a pair of chocolate eyes a shade darker than mine, filled with… something I couldn't quite place.

There was anger, though. I could feel that the moment he started pacing. "What the hell were you thinking getting into a car with Jacob Black?"

I laced my fingers behind my back. "You know, I asked myself that same question the second they made me sit in the back," I told him truthfully, but he was shaking his head by the middle of my sentence, looking even _more_ enraged. "What do you want me to say, Paul? That I'm an idiot? Okay. Fine. I'm an idiot. Happy now?"

"No, Alissa, I'm just—I don't understand." He looked at me instead of the trees, as he had been doing, seeming frustrated beyond belief. "I thought you hated him."

"I do."

"Then _why?_ " Paul approached me as he said it. He gently reached his fingers forward, looking at me for permission, and only groping—with soft, thoughtful fingers—at the inflicted area when I sent him a nod. He looked pained just by looking at it, which confused me; if it were me in his situation, I'd be grimacing, disgusted by whatever gory gash I was seeing.

Whatever stupid, snarky remark I was planning to make as to _why_ I let myself get in that truck… it became lost the moment I met Paul's eyes. I felt myself grow hot and unsteady, speechless without being speechless, and the look of anticipation—wait, anticipation? —was what snapped me out of my daze. I was breathless, tongue stripped of moisture, but I could _speak_. "I was…" How could I tell him I lied to everyone—that I was desperate for friends? I only had my father, and Kallie, and both were almost constantly busy. I had no one, and if I had to endure Jacob just for someone to actually _talk_ to, I was going to risk it. I didn't expect any of this shit to happen.

"What? You were what?" Paul didn't look away from my eyes, which only made this harder. It was like he could see right through me, like I was nothing but thin, thin thread. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. Rather, I felt airy. Like I was floating. But I didn't want Paul Lahote, of _all_ people, to be the one causing me to feel this way.

Jared combated any source of happiness that came my way, and though he called it protection, I knew what it _really_ was: bullshit.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," I said finally. At Paul's outraged look, I elaborated—"Maybe I just felt like arguing with someone today. You know how I am—always talking. Blah, blah, blah; right? That's me. Loud-mouth Cameron." Even to me, I sounded half-broken. Was a circuit loose? Was I losing my mind? Maybe the hit I took did more than open a flesh wound.

Paul nearly snarled at the words, tearing his hand away from my head. I grew alarmed, watching him as he turned to face the trees, his body shaking like the anger was trying to escape him. I could see tremors wrack up and down his spine, going from one spinal cavity to the next, traveling up until they latched onto his neck. I stared, counting the tremors, for maybe a straight thirty-seconds before it was occurring to me; he needed something to calm him down.

Throwing a stick wouldn't catch his attention and keep it until the rage sputtered from his body. I needed to act fast.

"Paul," I called, walking hurriedly over to him. He held out a hand, silently telling me to _back off._ He had his other hand grasping at his face, like groping his temple would heal the aching and put a stapled soothing in its place. It wouldn't work. Self-sacrifice always required a bit of pain to scare the anger away, and he wasn't doing that; he needed a physical helping hand. I didn't know what I was doing before it was too late to back down.

I threw away any sense of self-survival—maybe he needed _my_ sacrifice—and embraced the volatile, trembling Paul Lahote in a hug.

At first, it did nothing. Only flustered me to the point I felt like the world was spinning. He continued to shake, my own body falling into a steady rhythm alongside his. But then I felt a steady drop. Slow, and soft, like faltering footsteps, his body began to mollify, as though the feeling of flesh-against-flesh did more than add unwanted hindrances. Paul went from shuddering to still, his torso only moving as he breathed, and I heard his heartbeat through his tight, muscled chest. It went from rapid to human.

It was about this time that Paul decided it appropriate to hug me back.

"Okay, um," I said, after a nice, long moment of reveling in Paul's embrace, something I totally wasn't supposed to do, "you're good now, right?"

Paul didn't remove his arms, like I expected him to. He only tightened them around me. "Oh, very good."

 _This day just got even more ridiculous._ "If you're good… you can unhand me now."

"Oh, so this wasn't just a ploy to get your hands on me?" Paul's voice was teasing. It made me want to throw a shoe at him. "Damn."

"Listen, buddy, I'm _this_ close to shoving my shoe up your—"

Paul removed an arm, using the free hand to cup it around my mouth. Darn, he stopped me from finishing my threat. "You've got a mouth on you," he said, tilting his head down so he could actually see me. Gosh, he was so _tall._ "You know that, right?"

"And _you_ don't?" I laughed. I remembered how brusque he was in speech against Jacob and Bella, and the irony of our situation nearly made me double over. "You're _literally_ ten times worse than me."

Paul rolled his eyes, taking away his other arm. It gave me room to finally breathe, my body immediately taking about five steps back to experience _freedom_ from Paul's insufferable body-heat. Seriously, though—why was he so hot? And I meant that in both contexts. There was literally no reason for someone to be so feverishly hot and physically attractive. Especially not at the same time.

That was just downright unfair—and probably illegal.

The asshole gave me a long, unreadable look. "I guess we both have shit we need to work on."

I rolled my eyes. "Your list of problems is much bigger than mine, bucko. Now, c'mon—tell me where we're heading. Before you get into another one of your monologues on why I'm an idiot."

Paul scoffed. "We're going to Sue's. She's a nurse. She can fix your head."

"Sue… as in… Sue Clearwater?" At Paul's expression, I pursed my lips. "I thought you were going to take me to my Dad's."

"That was your suggestion. Not mine."

"Well, I like mine better."

Paul laughed. Like there was something funny. At the look of annoyance I shot him, his laugh crumbled, until it cut off completely. "Your dad works in the archives. What the fuck does he know about head trauma?"

I smiled. "Exactly! He'd just slap a band-aid on it and send me on my way. That way I don't have to go through all that social mumbo-jumbo that goes along with… well, Sue and her family." I knew that I sounded stupid, but honestly—I didn't feel like going near anyone else today. Paul was enough of a nuisance for my nerves—and I meant that in the best way possible, because good lord, that boy was built by the gods—and from all the times Dad dragged me out to eat with Sue and her family, I learned a few things.

Harry was the ultimate Cool Dad, and I felt a bit jealous that I was given the Nerd Dad.

Seth was a bundle of jitters, and didn't know what calming down was. He never sat still.

Leah was brash, and too much talking made her get this _look_ on her face, like she wanted to carve out your jugular and stretch it around her neck like a trophy.

And Sue. Well, Sue was a happy bowl of sunshine, and could brighten anyone's day.

And all four, in one tiny package… It was a wonder how their family dinners didn't end in constant disaster.

"Can I please go home, Paul?"

"No."

"Pleaaaaase?"

"Stop giving me that look," Paul said, scowling at me. The scowl was a lot more half-hearted than what it looked like directed towards his greatest enemies. "It…"

"Does it make you want to give in?" I said excitedly.

"Yes."

"Great! I'll keep doing it then."

Paul rolled his eyes, then started walking towards me. When I saw his hand turn into grabby-grabby gestures, I grew wide-eyed—and started backing up.

"Paul, wait, Paul—ack!" Without any sort of warning—aside from him walking towards me like a fucking serial killer—he picked me up, and threw me over his shoulder. My hair was falling all around my head like a halo. It made me feel a bit nauseous, and I wished for a weaker immune system so I could either pass out or throw up all over Paul's back. "This is harassment, I hope you know. Put me down! I'll sick Kallie on you."

Paul didn't listen. He started walking in the direction we were already going in the first place. He perked up at the last sentence, though. "About that—Embry wanted me to ask if you had her number."

Asshole! Of course he'd ignore the more _important_ part of my whines in favor of his little buddy's crush. Wait—crush. This was wonderful news! Embry—with Kallie? Kallie's greatest dream… Wait, Paul was trying to distract me, wasn't he? The greatest ploy of an evil genius.

"I refuse to give you anything until you put me down!"

"Not gonna happen, sweetheart," Paul said in reply, and the way his body vibrated really made me want to throttle him. "In the meantime—let's talk about how your ass looks from this angle. Almost as good as mine back there, right?"

What a dick _._ Using every little thing I did against me! This was going to be a long walk.

At least I didn't have to use my feet.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFF

 _A/N: OMG, so sorry if this is rushed. But ayeeeee—lots of Paul in this chapter. I'm so excited to dive into his and Alissa's relationship since they're so alike; it's gonna make for interesting character development in both._

 _On another note, there's just one more vote counted towards Alissa shifting then there is for her NOT shifting. I was honestly thinking about this, and I wondered how you guys felt about the idea of Alissa becoming the pack's emissary? I'm already planning on her father being the emissary for the ancient members of the tribe, and if she remains human, I want her to still have an essential role in the story's impact; I don't want her to just be an imprint._

 _If you wonder how I'd like to incorporate this idea (again, it's only if you all would like to see it; if it sounds stupid or bizarre, just state it as so. I listen to you all!) I'd want for there to be a link between the Cameron family and late aids to the Quileute tribe, and in each generation, the spirit of the ancient aids takes form in one or more descendants. And for whoever carries the spirit, they're granted certain abilities; a connection to the Other World, where they can communicate with the souls of deceased warriors, and maybe can even bring the souls of these warriors alive and use their spirits to fight when in danger. It can bring Alissa into the story without having her to shift, but also being enough of a badass that she's not the weak-link._

 _Tell me if you guys are into this idea, but if not; just say! I always consider the comments you guys make._

 _As a side note, I'll be coming out with a Teen Wolf story and a Jacob Black story soon. Stay on the lookout!_

 _I'll be back next week. :D_


	6. Chapter VI

**CHAPTER IV: TIS BUT A SCRATCH [PRT. I]**

 **"** **ARE WE THERE YET?"** I asked for what seemed like the fifteenth time, blood so rushed to my head that it felt like even my vision was fiery pink. After walking for miles on end, it had come to my attention that I didn't feel so good. So for the past five minutes, I would ask Paul if we had finally arrived at our destination anytime a headache formed at the temples—which seemed just about every itty-bitty millisecond. And his answer was always the same—

"No. Now quit asking me that. It's getting annoying," Paul replied. Though he claimed I was being annoying, he didn't _sound_ that way. Actually, if I had to put a finger on whatever flitting tone I was hearing, I'd say he was amused. Of course he'd find this funny; me, hanging like a limp noodle over his backside, voice muffled by his muscled skin, words childish and whiney, and him, big bad Paul Lahote, strolling down the merry, muddy path that led to God-knows-where. Who was winning? Certainly not me.

Losing was _not_ a wanted check on my resume. I scowled, trying to pronounce it enough that it'd feel like a ticklish kiss on Paul's back. "If there's bears running amuck, they're gonna smell the blood," I told him, voice a bit too posh for someone on this part of the globe. "And I don't think your frown is good enough to scare off a big, fuzzy, blood-hungry _bear._ "

Paul laughed. Actually _laughed._ Like he found the thought of a bear being able to harm him implausible. "Don't worry, Lissy. I'll keep you safe."

 _Just because you're tall and muscly and drop-dead-gorgeous doesn't mean—wait, what am I saying? God, I'm getting delirious or something. Sure, he's hot and has a really nice voice, and he actually respects you unlike the rest of the boys from school—but—_ I let out an inaudible groan. This whole internal conflict was really taking a toll on my body, and it was a fight between rationality and hormones whether I wanted to let myself fall under Paul Lahote's spell. Could I endure the consequences?

"You've gone quiet," said Paul musingly. "Didn't think I'd see the day where you'd go speechless."

On second thought, I'd better leave him to the bears as a potential mate. _Who needs a SO? Not independent persons such as I._ " _Obviously_ I'm thinkin', meat-for-brains," I said, punching my fist against his back. It did nothing except cause my knuckles to hurt something awful, but it was the thought that counted. "Something it must take a lobe and a half for you to accomplish."

Paul laughed again. "Is that supposed to be an insult?"

"If you value your brain, then yes. If you don't care, then no," I told him, matter-of-factly. "Judging that you asked, I guess that means you don't care." So much for a witty comeback, if the person being verbally assaulted could barely tell the difference between a compliment and an insult.

There was a pinch of silence, then _another_ laugh. "I just think it's cute when you get all worked up," Paul said to me. Without even being able to see him, I could hear the smirk in his voice. Again, I felt this intense, fervent desire to shove my _shoe_ up his ass. "Too bad I can't see your face. It's even more adorable when you blush."

"I'm going to tell Jared how you've harassed me. He's a dick, but he'll still kick anyone's ass if I ask him to," I spat, _blushing_ , like the infuriatingly flustered idiot I was. "It's part of that whole brotherly oath he took the minute I was born, ya know."

Paul, like a _proper_ gentleman, burst into another, longer-lasting spurt of laughter, like I just said the funniest thing in the world. He was obviously imagining Jared swinging at him, and how fast he'd dodge and weave, only to throw one back… twice as hard. If there was anything Paul was good at, besides being ruggedly handsome, it was fighting. "You think… you _really_ think Jared could win in a fight against me?"

"I realize the flaws in my plan," I said truthfully. "But when you think about it, if he's angry enough, he could get a few punches in. Remember William?"

Paul stopped walking. I could feel a strong tension in his shoulders form, like a shadowed memory was coming to life inside of his organs, and if it was what I was thinking—then oh yeah, the dark look of death was eminent as it loomed. The memory was funny to look back on, three years later… even though I was sure that somewhere, out there, the thought sent shudders of _fear_ down William Holton's back.

If I wasn't paying absolute attention to Paul, I wouldn't have noticed the subtle shaking in his shoulders. Like vibrating waves. "That fucker got what he deserved," growled Paul, sounding more animal than human. "I wish he still went to La Push so I could get my share of blood."

I blinked owlishly against his back. "Jesus _fuck_ , Paul," I said. "Take a chill pill, will you? Not everything has to be handled with _violence._ "

Paul didn't answer. He just continued to walk. Though, much more briskly this time around; he was seething, rendered speechless by his own rage, and I was sure his mind was plagued with thoughts of William, Jared, and fighting.

Minutes passed. We still weren't there. I had resorted to propping an elbow against Paul's back and watching the muck go past in a blur of browns and greens, and though I was jumping at the bone with an eagerness to ask when we'd get to Sue's, I knew it wouldn't be smart to prod at the bear when he was in such a state of unrest.

Paul fought a lot of battles, whether mental or physical, and he didn't like to talk about it often, if at all. He wasn't much of a talker anyway, only opening his mouth to shout, flirt, or say something droll. His anger spoke volumes of the kind of person he was. There was a layer of character that neither I or Jared had ever taken the time to unravel, a whole other person hidden beneath years of internalizing.

I wondered how long it would— _could_ —take to figure him out. I wondered if that was even _possible._

 _If it takes weeks, months, or years, I'll know you, Paul,_ I swore against the back of a stranger dressed in the skin of someone familiar. _I promise it._

FFFFFFFFFFFFFF

 **"** **You really** did a number on your head, hun," Sue Clearwater said, in that soft-spoken, kind voice of hers, patting a pad of cotton against my temple. "What happened?"

Knowing just what look would be on her face, I laughed, my shoulders shaking in their futile attempt to remain still. The laugh soon became a hiss when the cotton pad slid against the open, bleeding wound on my head, an accident I'd be angry about if it wasn't for Sue's gentle, caring face. "Well, uh… I was sitting in the back of a truck. The driver turned a bit too fast, and I hit the side metal. It stopped bleeding after about twenty minutes, but not before…" I gestured to my blouse, still soaked in red. "Do you know any home remedies for removing blood stains, by any chance?"

Sue shook her head, maternal concern wrinkling the lines on her face. "Alissa, why were you in the back of a truck? Especially in this weather. What if it had started raining—if this driver of yours had wrecked, you would be dead—"

From the side of me, there was a growl. A very _animalistic_ growl. _I have my very own guard dog,_ I thought derisively, unable to resist a quip, even though it wasn't spoken aloud. I turned over to Paul to give him my signature _look,_ befit with disapproval and irritation. "Calm it, Pluto," I said, waggling my finger at him. "You're only allowed to growl at Jeremiah, William, Jacob, and Bella. This is the Clearwater household, and you will respect it. Capiche?"

The look on Paul's face was… deadpan. I bet he wasn't expecting for Sissy-Lissy Cameron to be ordering him around. However, before I knew it, a smirk was twitching at his lips and Paul looked _amused._ I could imagine his thoughts: _Does this little girl really think she can tell me what to do? Hah. We'll humor her._ "Okay, Lissy," he told me, now wearing a full-blown smile.

Oh, was he finally listening? Being a good little (or not so little) dog? I began to smirk, pleased to know I had an effect on him, and he would actually listen to me—but then—

"But only if you _beg_."

 _Oh my gosh, he didn't just say that. Not in front of Sue! What the heck is wrong with you, Paul?!_ I reddened deeply, eyes widening to the point I felt they were going to come flying out of their sockets. A picture of humiliation, I slowly turned to look at Sue. Her expression was unreadable, eyes flickering between me and Paul, like she was seeing something _clearly_ for the first time. She didn't look mortified, like most parents would—something I had to applaud her for, considering my dad couldn't even look at pink capris without blushing—but she did look surprised.

Sue coughed, but smiled anyway. Her smile didn't look _forced_ , per se, but did look a little too wide for a jaw of her caliber. "I think it was more a flesh wound than anything," she told me. "If you start to get dizzy, or have issues with your vision, just call me. It's not a concussion, but we should still take precaution." She smiled. "Try to avoid any more run-ins with danger, okay?"

I tried biting my lip, tried keeping a hand over my mouth, but the overwhelming desire to speak couldn't be quelled by any physical motions. Putting on my best posh accent, I said, "'Tis but a scratch. It's just a flesh wound." I kicked out a leg, just for the hell of it—and fought a giggle when it came in contact with Paul's leg. Sue was watching the encounter—from my wide smile to Paul's not-so-menacing glower—with a look of wonder. I felt embarrassed, but pushed the feeling aside. "Thanks for cleaning me up. I bet I look badass, with all this gauze on my head."

Sue laughed, raising from her crouch in front of me. She offered up a hand to help me stand. "Oh, you do. I'm shaking in my boots," she said teasingly. "Try not to give Harry a heart attack when you pass through the kitchen."

My smile became all teeth, and I raised a hand to salute her. "Weaponless tis thee, so there shalt be a threat, not in the home of a hunter," I said. Ignoring the humored looks on both Sue and Paul's faces, I pulled Sue into a large embrace. She stiffened, like the hug came as a surprise, but I ignored it in favor of tightening my arms around her. Sue slowly slithered her own around my waist, returning the hug with equal fervor. "Thanks, Sue. I appreciate the help."

"Oh, honey, you're welcome. Do us all a favor and stay out of trouble, alright? You know how worked up your father gets when you're hurt."

I grimaced. Yes, I _did_ know how my dad got whenever Jared or I got injured—but especially me. I couldn't tell whether it was because I was the runt of the family, or because I was a girl, but Dad had a… special way of reacting anytime I wasn't perfectly okay. Like the time I broke my arm during a track and field competition, and he literally _cried_ at the hospital because I winced whenever he came running in and hugged me. Or the time I got the flu, and he catered to me on hand and knee because I hadn't got my flu shot that year and he thought I was going to die.

Yeah, Dad was a bit crazy when it came to his children. And I dreaded what he'd say when he got a load of what my head looked like at the moment.

"Your dad is literally going to die when he sees your head," Paul whispered to me. He had a hand on my back as we trekked out of Sue's living room and into the kitchen, apparently not trusting me to walk on my own. Who could blame him? I was one overly-strenuous activity away from passing the fuck out. "Jared, too, if he's there."

"Fuck Jared," I cursed, giving Paul the side-eye. Why did he have to bring up that loser? And we were having such a good time… "And Dad can handle it. It's patched up, I'm not dying—no concussion, just blood. Wait. The blood! Oh _god_ , he's gonna die, Paul, when he sees all this blood. How did I not pass out? Aw, geez—"

When we passed Harry sitting at the dining table, Paul gave him a nod while I smiled politely. Harry returned Paul's nod, and gave me a knowing grin, one that made me want to stop in my tracks; what the heck was with all these looks, like people knew shit I didn't? I wanted to stick out my tongue, like the obnoxious child I was, for looking at me like that, though maybe… just _maybe…_ people were starting to clue in on my slowly-enlarging crush on Paul Lahote. Was that what the looks were for?

I wanted to groan. I wanted to _die._ If people recognized my blushes, smiles, and wit for what they truly were, physical pieces specially made for Paul, then I was a goner. What if someone _told_ him?

 _Note to self: don't let Jared find out about this,_ I thought viciously, letting Paul lead me through the door, back out into the open.

Paul was smirking as we made it out onto the gravel driveway. "We can stop by my house and get you a shirt, if you're really that worried," he said suggestively. "It's on the way to your dad's."

"Totally _laughing out loud_ right about now," I said. My smile was long gone, and in its place was a poker-face. "Sometimes I really wanna punch you, Paul. I mean, seriously. Why are you like this?"

"I was just offering a friendly suggestion."

"You mean a _suggestive_ suggestion. Like, you're hot and all, but under no circumstances are you getting sexual favors from me," I said, saying it real fast, like I didn't know what I was actually saying until I said it. And let's be honest, that's what I did. I widened my eyes, looking at Paul with regret. "I mean… fuck."

Paul's smirk was so big, it could barely fit his face. I was ashamed to admit my eyes were following his lips; if I was reaching the time of my downfall, then I might as well just _go_ with it, huh? "Let's get you home, Lissy."

"Okay, uh, yeah… let's, uh, go." What I really wanted to say was, "Fuck my life," and by saying it, I meant shouting it, and by shouting it, I meant _screaming_ it.

 _Fuck my life, indeed._

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

 _A/N: As you can see, I'm splitting this chapter into two parts—mostly because I have work in about forty minutes and I feel extremely guilty for not posting in forever. I want to post a chapter once a week, and I've experienced some hella bad writer's block which will explain… why it's taken so long for me to update… but anyway! Back to the author's note. As long as I'm motivated, I'll be posting frequently. Favorites, follows, and reviews give me a lot of said motivation! Unlike most writers, I actually appreciate "pls update" reviews, so if you give one of those, it may make a chapter come early :D_

 _Anywhooooo, I want to address a reviewer that was worried about Alissa being overpowered as an emissary. Don't worry. She wouldn't be. The thing about supernatural entities is they have to have weaknesses, and believe me, Alissa will have many of them. By being able to draw on ancestral spirits, that doesn't mean she can shift or use supernatural strength/speed like actual shifters; it means she can cast physical apparitions. As in, think Kenshi from Mortal Kombat. It's psychokinesis, except with spirits! She can speak to spirits, but isn't capable of bringing anything back to life. The powers are cool as fuck, but she's limited to what she can do. She can drain energy and promptly pass out if she does too much at one time._

 _I hate Mary Sues. I stop reading stories if I feel like the heroine is one. If Alissa even remotely starts to feel like one, tell me please because OMFG FUCK MARY SUES. Alissa's got plenty of flaws, and a lot of them come from her holding grudges and being loyal/stubborn to a fucking tee. Btw if anyone wants a character sheet, just tell me and I'll totally do one after I post the next part to this chapter._

 _WE'LL BE GETTING INTO ACTUAL NEW MOON EVENTS SOON! GET READY FOR A WOLFY REVEAL AND BELLA GETTING ON ALISSA'S BAD SIDE :D EVERYBODY VOTED FOR HER TO BE NOT-FRIENDS WITH BELLA SO EXPECT LOTS OF BELLA BASHING howeverrrr I will NOT be making her out of character. I wanna stay as true to canon for her personality as possible :) unless yall want megabitch! bella lmaooo_

 _HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY (OR NIGHT) AND I'LL BE POSTING THE NEXT CHAPTER PART LATER TODAY OR TOMORROW MORNING_


	7. Chapter VII

**CHAPTER VII: 'TIS BUT A SCRATCH, PRT. II**

 **THE MINUTE WE FINISHED APPROACHING** the porch to my house, I turned to Paul, the look on my face best described as seriously serious. I propped a hand on my hip, jutted it out, and pursed my lips in the formation of a stern frown.

If I wanted to fit the persona I was going for, I needed to go _all out_ for it.

"Listen here, mister," I started, head and body tilting as I got grouchier and grouchier; "Ima say it, and only say it once; you're not allowed to speak. I'm going to be grounded until dinosaurs walk the Earth again. You know what that means? Huh?" I decided _screw it_ and went from menacing-grandma to frustrated-child, my arms going flying up in despair. " _No more lasagna nights at Kallie's!_ "

Paul laughed. After my heartfelt monologue, he had the audacity to _laugh._ Though, maybe this meant my monologue was less a tedious speech, and more a laughably serious rant; seemed like _all_ my sides of a conversation ended in someone laughing. Looking amused, and like he was trying his best to contain further spurts of laughter, the asshole shook his head—and said smilingly, "You could always have lasagna with your dad and Jared. Doesn't he cook as a hobby?"

"The day I eat at the same table as Jared is _never._ You couldn't pay me all the money in the world to endure _that_ living tragedy," I spat, not realizing _just_ who was walking up to the porch that very moment.

"Uh—I take offense to that." _Speak of the fucking devil, and he appears!_ What kind of sick irony was this? When I twisted my head over my shoulder to glower at the _known_ interrupter of mine and Paul's chat, I felt a sudden chill go down my body. _That's weird. What's with the ice?_ There was no wind. "What's got your panties in a twist?"

"I literally despise your existence. Everything about you makes me want to hurl," I said, in such a matter-of-fact tone that I was _sure_ the words fermented in his bones. "What's new? I just _love_ having a dickhead for a brother. Reminds me of a better time. When I was, you know, _not born yet."_

Jared blinked. He was dressed down—as he usually was, when he didn't have to be at school—and the only thing giving him the slightest bit of decency was his shorts. Even then, he looked like the reject of an Abercrombie modeling poster. No shoes, no shirt—no service, I should have said. Should have made it clear I didn't want to talk to him. However, I completely ruined that sentiment by thinking it was a good idea to _rant_ at him. Fuck, maybe _I_ was the reject. He pointed at the bandages aligning my hairline. "What happened to your head?"

From my side, Paul growled. I couldn't tell whether it was because he didn't like being reminded that I almost died, or because he was annoyed with the direction this talk was going. Maybe he didn't like that we'd been interrupted by my brother. The latter option was just my crush talking, though. "Bella Swan and Jacob Black happened," he told Jared.

Jared's eyebrows drew together. He looked intrigued. "Wait—leech lover? And the chief's son?"

 _What the ever-living fuck is a leech lover? Does she like being sucked on? Is that her kink? OH MY GOD HAS SHE FUCKED JARED – WHAT THE HELL IS KIM GOING TO SAY OMG –_ "Jared, oh my god. Don't tell me… Hell on Wheels spread her _legs_ for you…"

There was a long, _awkward_ period of silence. In which, both Paul and Jared stared at me dubiously—Jared's face repulsed, and Paul's full of dawning amusement. It was around this time that Paul began to howl with laughter, and Jared put a hand over his face, groaning loudly.

"No—fuck no. I would _never—_ you really think I would do that to Kim?" Jared gave a shudder. "Jesus Christ."

"Then how do you know—" It occurred to me, then, that maybe I was reading into things. Maybe it was an inside joke? Maybe Jacob made an offhand comment at school, and the boys overheard? There was a chance… that leech-lover meant something totally different than my own, race-heavy thoughts. I flushed with embarrassment, acknowledging the high level of stupidity I was radiating, and muttered, "I mean, uh—never mind."

Even though I was ready to backtrack, and pretend I never implied Jared to have screwed Bella, Paul wasn't quite ready to toss the conversational direction away. When I glanced at him, he was just beginning to grin— "Tell us _all_ about it, man. Did you draw blood? I heard she likes biters."

Jared… there was no words for the amount of disgust in his face. "Oh, _fuck_ _off_ ," he said. He sounded completely fed up with Paul's antics. And though I was embarrassed for jumping to conclusions, I couldn't fight a smile at how uncomfortable Jared looked. "I'm just— _see you inside."_ He pushed past Paul, knocking against his shoulder in an angry, _fuck-you-for-being-an-asshole_ way, and unfortunately for their friendship, Paul didn't look the least bit guilty.

 _Oh well._ I turned to Paul, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "Ready to face the herd? It'll be a sure show-stopper when Dad decides rattling me senseless will make the blood disappear."

Paul, already smirking, smiled instead, tossing his arm around my shoulder. _Interesting development,_ I thought, threateningly holding a poker stick at my mushed-and-gushed heart as it decided I should _blush_ in response, _but we're not dating, jerk-face!_ When I went to shrug off his arm, it didn't budge. Only when he began to lead me up the porch steps did I realize… _I wasn't even trying to escape the situation._

Dad was already standing at the kitchen entrance, wearing an apron that said, "This is what a really cool DAD looks like." His expression was confused, like an offhand comment from Jared had sent his head running, but it turned to full-blown horror when he saw the gauze around my head. "Oh, my God—Alissa, are you alright? Where does it hurt? Do you have a concussion?"

 _Where was the studious, awkward, easily-embarrassed father who raised me? What was this crazy, overprotective creature standing in front of me?_ I smiled sheepishly. "It doesn't hurt anymore," I told him honestly, knowing it might calm him a little bit, if I confirmed that I was not dying anytime soon. "And I don't have a concussion. It just _bled_ a lot—"

"Alissa," Dad said, inching closer. Before I could ward him off, or tell him _No, Dad, stop,_ he was ripping me out of Paul's arms and hugging me to him tightly. _Circulation… cut off. Breathing… not happening. Fuck. Dad, what the hell?_ "I shouldn't have let you go anywhere near Billy Black's devil son… This is all my fault. I'm sorry, Alissa."

I patted him comfortingly, to the best of my ability. "It's alright, Dad. I swear. I'm not dead. It's not your fault, okay?"

Dad sighed. For a moment, I thought he was just going to continue holding me, until his mind could settle its irrational thoughts and he could firmly think, _My daughter's okay._ But fortunately, he was a lot calmer today than his usual freak-the-hell-out routine; he retracted his arms, and took only a few steps back. For the next minute, he gave me repeated once-overs, checking my body for additional injuries, eyes _always_ going back to that gosh-darn head injury. He sneered, then lowered his gaze. " _Billy Black raised a goddamn heathen_ ," he growled, so quiet I barely caught it. "Does he discipline that child of his?"

Paul hovered behind me, like my very own guardian angel. "I could discipline him for you, Mr. Cameron," he said. Even though I couldn't see his face, I knew he was grinning that devilishly-innocent grin of his, the one he used on _adults_ to get out of trouble. "If it's off school grounds, I won't get expelled."

Dad looked very against the idea at first, but the more he stared at Paul, the more intrigued his expression got. "I couldn't ask that of you, Paul," he said.

"Are you seriously considering having someone beat up a kid?" I asked, dumbfounded, not expecting my _dad,_ of all people, to be thinking along those lines. "Dad… Billy would literally grow functioning legs, and hand your ass to you, if he found out about that."

Dad sniffed. "You could have been killed, Alissa, if what your brother was saying is true," he said. From his tone, I gathered that _he_ couldn't believe that _I_ wasn't undergoing the same feelings of bitterness and anger. "After your mother died, I was a wreck. I couldn't function. If the same happened to you—" He fell silent, a pained look on his face.

I wasn't used to my father being angry. After all, his anger was like dynamite—it brewed in silence, then ignited, then snapped. I had never laid witness to him in his occasional spurts of rage; I was only there for the frustration, the fear, the disparagement. I could only overhear from firsthand witnesses what it was like, and even they were scarce. If Dad was angry, he usually confined his outbursts to the safety of a four-walled room, the door locked and pedestrian-void.

This was strange. While he wasn't enacting his inner turmoil—not throwing things or throwing _punches,_ like Paul had a knack for doing—you could see the strain in his wrinkles, the way he was choking down words and gripping his fists tight. What was even more peculiar was the lack of overreaction towards my injury. Instead of exaggerating the extent, all that had registered in his mind was that _Jacob Black_ had a part in this mishandling.

Maybe it was an excuse for Dad to go to war with Billy Black, but whatever the case, it was clear as day that this was the _final_ straw for Dad's thin neutrality toward his lifelong nemesis's son. What came next for Dad and Billy's battle plans was unclear, but I knew Dad would be including Jacob for his next few _pranks._

"Listen, Dad, Jacob's a scumbag— _yes_ , this is true—but beating him up isn't the answer," I said. It was an ironic statement. For the better part of sixteen years, I had proved myself to be the _chaotic_ one of the family; Dad was the cynical one, and Jared was always the peacekeeper. Now roles were reversing, and I didn't really _like_ it as much as it _relieved_ me. One could only go for so long being stressed before it became tiresome. "I vote that we let him go about his life."

Dad scrunched up his nose, like there was something foul and unappetizing in front of him, and shook his head. "If you're adamant on leaving him in one piece, I'll take a complaint to the tribe. Billy _is_ going to discipline his son, one way or another."

I pieced a single thought together in my mind… Dad was _not_ going to stand down. Loosing a sigh, I let my eyes roll to the back of my head. "Dad, go back to your books," I told him, not unkindly. "Jacob'll get what's coming to him, alright?"

Paul cracked his knuckles from behind me, causing me to jump. I had forgotten there was company, too locked in my busying task at calming Dad's anger. Even _more_ shocking, he put a hand on my arm, near my collar bone, heat _seeping_ through the sleeve of my blouse—but I didn't have much to complain about. Quite the contrary, I liked the feeling of him touching me, and I liked the thought of him being my very own personal heater. Was that selfish?

"I'll talk to him at school," Paul vowed, voice just a touch from my ears. The words vibrated from his hand against my arm.

The worry in Dad's face seemed to wither away at the sound of Paul's offering for confrontation. In its place came relief. "Thank you, Paul," he said, _gratefulness_ in his tone; "Make sure you let him know I'll be watching for further… incidents. I don't appreciate anyone bringing my daughter harm."

"I can fight my own battles!" I cried, unable to handle it anymore. I mean—what the fuck? They were talking like they were outlining a war blueprint, making battle plans—all while I was still _here_ , standing and listening. "Listen, alright—I don't have a concussion. The wound just bled a lot. And yeah, Jacob likes to antagonize me, and he calls me names occasionally—but he's a teenage boy. What can you expect?"

Paul barked out a disbelieving laugh. "I'm a teenage boy, but you don't see _me_ doing any of that…" he muttered. When I twisted my head to shoot him a glare, he was smiling, perfectly pleased with himself. Seeing the look on my face, his smile only widened. "He's a dick."

I sighed. "How about we just… save the confrontation—don't give me that look, Paul—and do a prank, or something, instead? I really don't want to get involved, but… a prank is a lot less evil than _threatening_ or _pummeling_ him."

Dad blinked. "I'm meant to be the rational one," he said, looking impressed. I supposed in that twistedly analytical head of his, he found my change in character to be something of _praise_.

"You are. I'm just tired," I explained, then straightened out my face to be stern, emotionless. "Alright, soldiers. We've gotta come up with a prank so spectacularly spectacular that Jacob will tuck tail and _run._ Any ideas?"

Silence. Not even a cricket chirping. The only sound was a muffled screaming coming from upstairs—undoubtedly some show Jared was entertaining himself with. Dad's glasses were slipping off the bridge of his nose as he stared blankly in my direction, and Paul just _shrugged,_ when I stared at him.

I sighed. "Ugh. You guys are hopeless."

With a text sent to Kallie asking for her immediate assistance, and a few sheets of notebook paper later, we were ready to get this show on the road.

And certainly, Jacob wouldn't know what hit him.

* * *

 **A/N:**

Yo wassup, I'm a disappointment for not posting this yesterday but guess what? I at least _posted_ it… that's gotta count for something right?

Anyway, this chapter is very chaotic, and is sort of a filler, but the upcoming chapters are gonna be SO FUCKING FUN to write. There will be a prank war between the Blacks and the Camerons, best described as unnecessary comic relief and necessary relationship-building, and the supernatural elements are gonna come into play.

SUPERNATURAL SHIT IS COMING UP! Which means, Alissa will be learning of the wolves soon, and will be getting involved in some real crazy shit. I'll probably throw in quite a few AU elements every now and then, just because this story doesn't depend on the Cullens or Bella for plot devices and it's a long while before we get into Eclipse. If you all have ideas, throw them tf at me, and I'l totally write them :)

Okay, now for the important stuff. I need y'all to tell me your thoughts on some shit. I don't really _like_ the idea of Jacob or Quil imprinting on children (I've always found it gross) so, I plan on having them either imprint on OCs or not imprint at all. It's something I'm doing for the good of my conscience. But I'd like you all to tell me whether you approve of that, or want something different? I also want to ask—do you all want to see Alissa _forgive_ Jared and Jacob, and if so, would you want her to develop bonds with them? Obviously, Alissa's going to see a different side to Jared when she discovers his secret, but Jacob's a whole other story; he's done some really shitty, immature things.

See you guys soon! :D


	8. Chapter VIII

**CHAPTER VIII: LET'S GO FOR A JOY RIDE**

 **COME MONDAY MORNING, I** **WAS** exhausted. Near incapacitated from brainstorms and never-ending preparations for a prank that was decidedly less impactful than all of Jacob Black's actions tied into one, it was a no-brainer for me to decide it was a good idea that I _skip school_ for the day. I knew what was in-store for me, if I were to attend a Monday-inclusive store of daily doings: Mrs. Johnson's grainy, unforgiving lectures on being prompt; art class consisting of me expressing myself and Mr. Meadows calling upon me for a "surprise" counseling session; Jacob Black being a bitch to me in third period, and me having to resort to cordial ways of telling him to "fuck off"; the library still being closed for cleaning, and me condemned to sitting with fiends in the cafeteria; my free period haunted by the existence of Jared Cameron as our overly-observant study hall advisor; and best of all, my evening after classes made the most they could be in detention.

Oh yes, I could already feel myself _aching_ with _longing_. Who was Alissa Cameron without her daily dose of detentions and disappointing adults? Saturdays and Sundays felt barren, spent lifeless among linen bedsheets and ignoring the rising stacks of homework on a nearby desktop. Of course, sleep could always be added to the equation that _made_ Alissa Cameron who she was, but sleep (not so much a habit as it was a necessity) wasn't a very _unique_ characteristic to add onto a checklist of things that made me _…_ well _, me._

To anyone who knew me, it wasn't much a surprise to find me still holed up in my room, long after Jared had left in his girlfriend's car. I had felt my body drain of energy the longer I stayed in bed that morning. I watched the minute hand tick by on my clock, faster than it had ever been during morning classes; 7 am gone, then 8 am gone, then 9 am gone, then 10 am gone. Before I knew it, it was 11 am—third period. The same hour I had with…

A shudder of relief went through me, then, knowing that at least for today, I was safe from Jacob Black's torment. Snuggled up in a comforter far too thin for a brisk, cold day like today. Bare-faced and alone in the house, my father gone to the archives and Jared to be away for the unforeseeable future. Knowing him, he wouldn't be home until midnight. And knowing Dad, he wouldn't be home until 2 in the morning.

What a lovely, mysterious family I was blessed with. It just made me _so_ happy to know if they had a single secret, they'd run to me and spill their entire guts just so I'd know they trusted and respected me. _Truly_ —I was blessed.

Bleh. Fucking assholes. It annoyed me to no end, the amount of secrecy running amuck in this place.

My father—I knew he'd eventually care to tell me about everything there was to know about his work and what it was he did. With Jared, I no longer held hope we could rekindle; we hadn't been close since the start of last semester, when he ditched me indefinitely and got Paul to follow a similar routine. I doubted any sort of truce could or would be called between us. It became common, the lack of love and trust we held for one-another. It started slow, like a shallow wave, but grew bigger and bigger the more he snapped at me, the more he blew me off. Before I knew it—before I could find some sort of sheet metal to shield myself—it became tumultuous, and a tidal wave crashed over me. All these doubts reached a crescendo-like high.

I was naïve, for a while. I thought Jared was just busy with schoolwork and extracurriculars, even though I knew damn well that he was with Paul doing God-knows-what anytime I found something for us to do. I asked him to go to the movies; he declined, said he had a project in history, and went to the beach with Paul instead. I asked if he wanted to play some soccer; he said no, claimed he was going to look for a job to pay for a car, and didn't look the least bit apologetic when I found him later, playing video games in the living room. _With Paul._

Soon, he became angry. He no longer tried to hide his trail, no matter the sloppy job he was doing already. He started getting hateful anytime I asked. He stopped treating me like his sister. He started treating me like the ugly, outcasted girl who kept thinking she had a chance with the handsome, popular jock. Like I was _nothing_ but a nuisance.

* * *

 _"Jared!" I called out, running up to him from the coastline. I had been out walking and collecting shells when I saw him, strolling down from the car lot with Paul beside him. I remembered him saying he was going to work on his speech for Miss Grigsby's literature class. It confused me to see him here, looking relaxed and bother-free. Though, it didn't deter me from wanting to say hi; after all, what if he finished early and sought out a way to spend his downtime? "Jared, oh my gosh—look at the shells I found—"_

 _Paul was looking at me with a small, grimace-like frown on his face. But Jared—he looked horrified, like a man watching a monster inch closer and closer, before his face melted into a smile. But I could read him easily; it was forced. "Oh, hey, Lissy," Jared said, raising an arm behind his shoulder and scratching at his neck. It was his telltale sign for being nervous._ For hiding something. _"Those are pretty. I didn't know you were still coming."_

 _When he looked at Paul, all he got was a shrug in response._

 _I smiled. "Yeah, Kallie was going to come with, but she had a dentist appointment. I thought I might make a necklace." I looked at him curiously, then, trying to hide my hurt. This was the fifth time he cancelled this month. This was the fifth time I caught him in his lies. But I didn't daresay comment about it. I didn't want to make him angry. "Did Miss Rice tell you what you got on that paper?"_

 _Jared shared another look with Paul. He rolled his eyes, mouthing something I caught the barest movement of lips for;_ See what I mean? She barely stops talking. _He turned his attention back to me, where I was slowly beginning to frown, no longer attempting to hide my pain. Where I was once trying to excuse his behavior was the rationale, dictating to me hidden truths behind Jared's barely-concealed lies. He continued to smile a forced, awkward grin. "Yeah, told me I lacked direction, but my wordplay made up for it. Got a whopping seventy-six percent on it."_

 _"That's good," I said, on the cusp of mumbling. I felt a sickening crunch in my heart, like it was being squeezed to the point of no recuperation. It gave me a needed push in the direction towards the point of no return. I decided it was no longer blissful showering my headspace in ignorance. "I thought you had a speech you were supposed to be working on."_

 _Jared opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. He sent a panicked glance at Paul, who just shook his head at Jared. Without asking, I knew it was because Paul had no sympathy for what Jared was doing. What sort of pain he was putting me through. Yes, Paul was along for the ride, but we were never close; we kissed, we exchanged fake vows in the school play, we laughed and made quick banter when the three of us hung out. But he had no loyalty to me. He wasn't my brother._

 _He was just my brother's pawn. A player meant to charade around in the joke that was my life._

 _"I—just forget it." I shook my head. The sinking in my chest made me feel like I couldn't breathe. I was unable to speak without choking. My tears were already on the horizon, blooming behind my eyelids like wobbling flower petals. "I'll see you at the house."_

 _I ran past them, to the car lot. I ran past the cars. I ran to the woods. I found myself on an unclear path, my knees bruised, and my slide-covered feet covered in dirt and sand._

 _I sat in the woods a whole three hours. Just sitting. Just thinking. I wondered aloud and in my head what it was I did to make Jared ashamed of me. I wondered why Paul didn't fight for me. I looked at the sky and I asked why I was alone._

 _All alone._

 _All alone._

 _All alone._

 _I hoped I wouldn't die that way._

* * *

I flinched, an overwhelming rush of heat enveloping my face. A wall of tears was behind my eyes, fighting at the eyelids that shielded them from the outside world. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to be like those silly, emotional girls off those silly, emotional soap dramas who cried half the time and lashed out at others the rest. I didn't want to be a soft, broken girl hidden behind a tough-girl façade.

My brother had always been my favorite person. He was a secret treasure of a person, one I cherished above all else. I loved Kallie like a sister, but I hadn't known her as long as I knew Jared; Jared had been saving me, protecting me, _loving_ me since the day I breathed life for the first time. From the moment I could giggle, he was beside me. Being my guardian angel without having to even be asked.

When our mother died—when our father became so inconsolable that mere words did nothing but drive him further away—Jared took on the guardianship role. I was six and he was seven, and he knew next to nothing about girls and their needs, but he didn't need to know. When I was hungry, he got our favorite chips from the kitchen cabinet and we ate them while sitting underneath the dining table and laughing. We would spend hours on end in the living room, building forts and watching cartoons. We read books to each other—my vocabulary a lot less developed, and his a lot dirtier—and rode the school bus sitting side-by-side.

We made a pact after our mother died. _"Together forever until the grass is blue and pigs fly high."_

Maybe that was why it broke my heart so much when I lost him so easily. When our history became nothing but the leftovers of a scrapbook. When I felt him slip through my grasp, and I could do nothing but watch and reach out for sheer air.

I was forced to swallow down my pain, and churn it out as anger. I had to hide my sadness with empty quips and humor that never quite matched my eyes. I had to pretend I didn't _care_ when all I fucking _did_ was care.

Laying in bed, continuing to watch worthless minutes tick by and listening to the background sound of a news broadcast, I wondered just how nice it'd be if—for once—I could be happy.

If Jared's betrayal never happened, and he never tried to purposefully sabotage my dates. If Paul didn't heed my brother's example, if our kiss went somewhere meaningful. If my mother hadn't died, and my dad wasn't broken.

I shivered.

 _Sometimes it's best not to think about the what-ifs,_ I thought bitterly, curling further into my blanket. _Sometimes they hurt worse than the what-ares._

* * *

Of course, Tuesday came. And it was back to pretending.

"What's up, party people," I announced, walking into detention that fine evening. During art class, I drew Mrs. Johnson being eaten by my fairly-chunky friend the sasquatch, and neither Mrs. Meadows nor Mr. Meadows took it lightly. _Figures._ Had to release my frustration and anger somehow, in a way that didn't involve violence; unlike Paul, I did so artistically. "How are y'all this fine and dandy, cold-as-shit day?"

My fellow detention-regulars stared at me blankly. None of them could decipher how chipper I was on a day where I was given the slip _and_ bore eye bags as purple as a Twilight Woods fragrance. I supposed my superpower was being drop-dead tired but not dropping dead.

"I'm swell," said Paul Lahote, lounging in the back. When he caught my eye, he sent me a wink. While on another day I might have swooned, I was far too entuned with past memories, _past pain_ , to really _care._ "I assume you're fantastic."

"Fan- _freakin'_ -tastic, actually," I said, scathingly. I approached my usual seat slowly, like I was prey enclosing on my predator's territory. "Who's heading detention today? Not Mrs. Johnson, I hope. She has it out for me today. Made me eat lunch in Mr. Meadows's office, of all places."

"I was wondering where you were," Paul said, sending me a small smirk. If he expected me to _care_ that he wondered upon my whereabouts, that he looked for me and was disappointed when I was nowhere to be seen, then he was right. I did care. I cared a whole freaking lot, almost to the point it was unbearable. But…

I thought about Jared. I thought about collecting seashells, about brothers telling their friends about their annoying little sister who could never shut up or take a hint. I though about said friends of these brothers, and how they laughed and agreed.

And for once, my heart listened to my head, hope decimated and reproach in its place.

I raised an eyebrow, lips curling into a sneer. "I would have been in the library otherwise," I told him. The look on his face made my words all the more worth it; he looked hurt. Like he caught the unsaid implication: _Why would I be in the cafeteria? There's no one there worth seeing._ "They're finally done with cleaning it, and now I can eat in _silence_ again."

"Silence?" Paul stared at me. "With _you?_ I just don't see it."

"No one can. That's the irony of it all," I said, all deadpan, throwing my hands up in a _what-can-you-do?_ gesture. "But—surprise, surprise!—hearing gossip and open-mouthed chewing makes me want to hurl. I don't like it. So I _avoid_ it. Capeesh?"

Paul was watching me carefully. "Capeesh."

Before I could further incite this meaningless, boring conversation, or go into tangents that would end with him figuring me out, a door slammed open from behind me. I knew what this meant— _and it meant nothing good._ "Alright, sit down now—and when I say sit _down_ , Ms. Cameron, that doesn't mean for you to turn around and make goo-goo eyes at Mr. Lahote. Sit! Down!" Mrs. Johnson's voice was a mixture of a croon and a growl, so when she said her final words, it sounded like the words were coming from a talking, walking automobile. With my tail tucked between my legs, I sat down in a hurry. And I _definitely_ refrained from making goo-goo eyes at Paul. Mrs. Johnson's eyes were watching me vigilantly, narrowed down into slits. "Now, that we've got _that_ settled…"

Mrs. Johnson was a tall, powerful woman. She had hair cropped impeccably short, reaching just below her ears, and a frown so menacing it could send bears crying for their mothers. Not to mention she had eyes black as coals. And hair as auburn as fall leaves. She fit the description of a demon perfectly well, though I'd never tell _her_ that.

"You all will be writing lines for me today," the woman said, in a seething, barely-controlled tone. Several of us groaned in response, not expecting _lines_ when detention usually consisted of sleeping, scribbling, and half-assing past-due homework. Mrs. Johnson sent the room a deadly glance, one that had everyone shutting up and stiffening in their chairs. "No complaining, or you'll stay _over._ I'll make you write until your hands bleed."

I laughed, hurrying to start coughing and choking in order to disguise my amusement. The mocking part of me muttered, _Funny; I feel my ears already hemorrhaging just from hearing her speak. Vroom, vroom, bitch._

"Is there something _funny_ , Mrs. Cameron?" Mrs. Johnson stared me down, not even bothering to snap at the rest of the delinquent student-body when they craned their necks around to look at me too.

My hands were laying on my desk. Shrinking down in my seat, confidence deflating at the daring look that ghastly woman was giving me, I began to twiddle my thumbs, violently picking at the skin. I put on a fake, sickeningly-sweet smile. "Just have a bit of a cold," I said.

" _Hm_. Sure." She shifted her gaze behind me, staring at _something_ with a vicious, analytical look in her eyes. Catching my own gaze, innocent and curious, she made sure to _crush_ it. A single glance and I was frowning, fear in my eyes.

"Take out your paper, and we'll begin," the woman went on to drone. The sound of unzipping, metal-clangs, and tearing came to life immediately after, everyone abiding by her wishes—her demands. I did as well, eyes not moving from Mrs. Johnson as I pulled out my notebook.

When a lazing, slow-going boy caught her eye, she harrumphed and immediately trotted over to give him a piece of her mind; I took that as my opportunity.

I snuck a glance behind my shoulder, hands tearing out a sheet. Paul was already looking back at me, his own notebook in front of him. When he caught my eye, it was almost scary how instantaneously they lit up, how his lips involuntarily turned from a frown into an almost-smile.

I quickly turned around. Unable to control my fast-beating heart, or the way my palms became sweaty and shaky.

I was supposed to be mad. I was supposed to look at him, and feel angry and sad and frustrated—never excited, never relieved, never happy.

But—I had to remind myself, _Paul isn't Jared. He never stopped smiling at you, or saying hi in the halls. It's okay to like him. It's okay to feel things for him._

Another part disagreed.

Staring at Mrs. Johnson, my mind distracted with thoughts of Paul and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he _smiled_ and the way he never stopped teasing me or making stupid jokes, even when he was supposed to be serious, I knew I had it bad.

And I blamed it entirely on a weekend spent knocking knees and cracking jokes with Paul, my father and Kallie the only things keeping us from becoming something more.

* * *

Walking out of detention, I felt someone hovering behind me—so close I could almost taste body heat. I knew who it was without looking. I kept silent, knowing what he wanted; he wanted to talk.

"I don't know what it is about you," Paul said quietly. I barely heard him over the sound of the other delinquents as they sped past and picked back up on conversations halted by an hour of imprisoning quiet. My ears were desperate to hear what he had to say, though, so they were completely entuned with him, everyone and everything else all background noise. "One minute we're joking around, the next you're cold. What's with that?"

I let out a sigh. I knew it was too good a wish for him to ignore my hot-then-cold reactions towards him; he was always more observant than I gave him credit for. "Look, Paul," I said, slowly, hoping my words wouldn't completely crumble our relationship with one-another, "you're my brother's best friend. When he was a bitch to me, you never said anything. You _let_ him do it. And yeah, sometimes I'll forget about it, and we'll go back to how we were, but right now, all I can think about is Jared making quips about me being annoying, how me never leaving the two of you alone, and you just shrugging. Nodding. Saying _nothing_ in my favor or against."

Paul grabbed my shoulder, prompting me to stop and to face him. Everyone passed us by, barely sparing us a glance. The boy in front of me looked completely drained, eye-bags almost worse than mine—and I knew my words did nothing but to worsen the stress in the lines and columns of his face. "Alissa, I can't speak for your brother. What he did to you was a dick move, I get it, and I should have stood for you, but you know what? If I did, I would have lost Jared _and_ you. He would have got pissed at me for thinking I had a say in how he treats you. _You_ would have got mad at me for being rude to your brother." Paul shrugged, letting out a humorless laugh. "It was a lose-lose situation. You _know_ I didn't like what he did to you."

I remembered his expressions anytime he was there as witness to Jared's treatment of me. The looks of annoyance, of disappointment, of anger—they were never at the expense of me, meant to exhibit some sort of wish that I'd disappear. They were because Paul held a similar attitude, though he could bottle up his much better than I ever could mine.

I frowned. "Still. You never tried to hang out with me. We never went back to being friends after Jared and I fell out. I mean, Jesus, Paul."

Paul sucked in a breath. He looked like a man dreading what came next— _his next words_. "Jared told me I couldn't," he told me finally.

 _Jared told me I couldn't._

 _Jared told me I couldn't._

My expression dropped entirely. " _What_?" I breathed.

Paul bit his lip. "I shouldn't be telling you this," he muttered, clapping a hand over his face and dragging it down. He let out a sigh. "Jared never liked the idea of me being friends with you, even at the very beginning. He thought—" He cut himself off.

"What? He thought what?" I was still reeling. Still breathless. My heart was spluttering, barely able to beat. It was in pain.

The look on Paul's face was uneasy. "He didn't want us to be friends for two reasons," he told me, holding up two fingers. "I've always been a bit of a hothead. Violent, easy-to-get-mad. Jared didn't like me being around you; he still doesn't. He thinks I'm going to get you hurt."

"Okay," I said. I didn't know what else to say—if I even _wanted_ to say anything else. "What was the second reason?"

If possible, his expression became even _more_ uneasy. "He didn't want us to become something _more_ than friends." When I continued to stare at him, saying nothing in return, his eyes turned embarrassed. "I told him I thought you were pretty. He was _pissed._ Stopped talking to me for a week straight. When I said I was sorry, he told me we couldn't be friends if all I wanted to do was screw his sister."

The words came out of my mouth, faster than I could stop them— "And is that all you wanted to do? Screw his sister?" I pursed my lips.

Paul glanced around. The hallway was empty now, everyone from detention far, far away. We were alone, and our voices were echoing off the walls. He said quietly, "Of course not. I have more respect for you than that."

I shook my head, focusing on the big picture. "Okay, so let me get this straight. Jared blew me off because he didn't want me around you? That's it?"

Paul nodded, wordlessly.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in. "That's just… God. That makes absolutely _no sense._ " I tightened my hands around my backpack straps. "Fuck."

"I never wanted to stop talking to you, Alissa," Paul said quickly. "I mean—fuck—did you think that kiss meant nothing? That I felt nothing for you? _Obviously_ I fucking did."

I kept shaking my head. Shaking it and shaking it and shaking.

 _Do you see what I mean? She never stops talking._

If Jared's purpose was to keep me safe from Paul, virginity intact, then there was _no_ reason to insult me. To call me annoying. To stop talking to me altogether, unless he materialized for the sole purpose of sabotaging my attempted relationships.

"Just say something, Alissa," Paul continued pleading. "I—I told you this so you'd know I _never_ meant to hurt you. And now I can't fucking stay away. And Jared, I think he understands."

I looked at him sharply. "Fucking _fuck_ Jared!" I snapped. "Tell him he's a dick. Tell him _I know._ Tell him he's got a whole other thing in mind if he _ever_ thinks I'm going to think he was _right_ for doing something like that!"

Tears were welling behind my eyes. _No no no no—not in front of Paul, please._ My lip began wobbling and I curled my arms around myself.

Paul's eyes were frantically glancing over me, catching the tears in my eyes, the way I looked like I was about to fall apart. I _was_ falling apart.

I told myself _no._ I told myself to be strong. I told myself to pick up my own pieces. But I couldn't.

I didn't care how embarrassing I looked, how embarrassing I was _being_ , as I fell into Paul's arms and began to sob into his chest. His arms curled around him, one of his hands reaching up to run his fingers through my hair— _something he used to do without Jared as witness, when I had nightmares and went to seek him out in Jared's room at four in the morning, after they spent a sleepover guzzling energy drinks and playing video games._

I thought about our first kiss. I thought about the secretive smiles, the secretive winks. The slow spiral into something less, rather than something more. The way Jared let it _all_ happen, all because he didn't want me and Paul together.

 _He got his wish._

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Holy shit, I didn't think I was going to write so much. But here we are! I try to keep chapters short so I can churn them out more quickly but… big oof, right there. This chapter took so long because I genuinely didn't know what to do. Writer's block is a major bitch. I wanted to go ahead and get the prank over with, but I'm also still having trouble thinking of a good enough prank for Alissa and the fam to pull on Jacob. Should it involve my main man Billy? Should it be crazy and spectacular? I was kinda thinking about making it have something to do with Bella, base it around embarrassing him in front of the love of his life. Idk though_

 _Anyway, just wanted to say thank you so much for all the favorites, follows, and reviews. They mean the world to me. I've recently been in a really dark place, sad and seeing no meaning in anything, so it always warms my heart and makes me feel 10x better seeing people actually appreciate me for something._

 _Alissa & Paul are totally gonna get their second kiss soon. *wink wink* I thought it was funny Paul was basically confessing his feelings to her while she was in the middle of an emotional crisis. _

_Sorry if things felt rushed. I'm exhausted and feel fucking deflated tbh_

 _Hopefully, within the next few chapters, we'll have Alissa learn the truth about the pack. How would you all like her to find out?_


	9. Chapter IX

CHAPTER IX: A WOLF WEARING A DEAD MAN'S FACE

 **BEYOND EMBARRASSED,** and fruitlessly scrubbing at my damp cheeks, I stormed out of the school. Paul followed quickly after.

"Alissa, please—" the boy said, his long legs keeping easy pace with my much-shorter stride, and— _damn him—_ a hand curled itself around the crook of my elbow, tugging me backwards. "Just _wait."_

"I'm _done_ listening, Paul," I told him furiously. I wrenched my arm from his grip, knowing he could have easily held on— _but he didn't_. He was staring at me, like a lost, defeated puppy. "I've heard all that I need to. I know that you, and Jared, are _shitheads_ , and I can't trust a single word that leaves either of your fucking mouths."

Paul opened and closed his mouth wordlessly. He was subtly shaking, too, as though there was a million thoughts whizzing through his mind and not a single one could be articulated into even a half-decent apology—one worth my ear, or my forgiveness. It was like he _knew_ his errors were irredeemable, but a part of him was too fixated on keeping me in his life that he didn't care; he'd do anything _to_ redeem himself.

My lips curled into a cruel, hateful smile. At my wit's end, I let out a scoff. "Just because I cried in your arms doesn't make you Prince Charming again," I spat.

"I know. _I know_. I'm-I'm so sorry—but, please, Alissa. _I can't lose you._ " His eyes were desperate and pleading, and his fingers twitched. There was no mistaking what intentions hid behind those chocolate brown eyes.

 _Sorry doesn't cut it,_ I thought bitterly, curling a tight fist into the rough material of my flannel, _not this time_. _"_ Go find your lapdog," I said, wanting to hurt him. "Go run to him, like you do every time. Roll over backwards for him, Paul. Like you do, _every fucking time._ "

Something seemed to snap in Paul's eyes, whether from my hurtful words or the way I was turning, intending to leave and never talk to him again. He charged forward, grabbing both my arms into an unrelenting grip. I let out curses, fighting to get away—but he was too strong, and all I made him do was pull me closer. A dark look crossed his face. He tugged and tugged me until our faces were mere centimeters apart. He whispered, "I'm not going anywhere, Alissa. Not until you tell me what I can do, to fix this. _Fix us_. And even then, I'm not leaving until I do just that: _fix us_."

 _Fix us._ Bleh. What a pathetic term. As though I were broken, as though _he_ were broken. When it was merely our ties being severed. When it was our _relationship_ that was broken.

 _Not me. Not him. Not us._

For a moment, I imagined what it would be like if I were to forgive Paul. Images flitted by, ones too personal to verbalize or ponder a second time.

Paul and I sitting at La Push's beach, pushing at one another and laughing. Paul putting Jared and I in a room together, not letting us out until we found a way to work out our differences. Paul punching Jacob Black in the jaw, after he just called me a whore to my face. Paul taking me out to a starlit picnic for our first date. Paul and I sharing our second, then our third, then our fourth kiss, both so absorbed in our own little lovesick bubble that the errors of the world were paid no mind.

I blinked out of my reverie, a sudden aching occurring in my chest. My heart and mind were pitted against one another, as they almost always were; one was desperate to forgive and forget, while the other couldn't believe the nerve Paul had, to think this was something I _could_ learn to let go. If this were Jared, I would not have even thought twice before rejecting his apologies and sending him on his way.

But this was _Paul._ Paul Lahote, the guy I used to have a big, fat crush on. The very one who made my heart flutter, and my mind second-guess whether I truly wanted to go on a date with what's-his-face or that-one-guy. He had wronged me in so many ways, and had done things he could never change the irreversible damage from, but unlike Jared, he had always felt guilty— _and the only reason he let Jared get away with it was because he thought Jared was right. That all Paul was, and all Paul could ever be, was a danger, and if he continued to hang around me, he'd hurt me._

My eyes went wide, my lips curling into an 'o' of realization. I went suddenly limp in Paul's grip, and his own face became bewildered, as though my change-in-character (this loss of energy) was something to be concerned about. But frankly, this was what Paul had been waiting on: for me to come to terms with the things he'd done, and for me to rationalize his wrongdoings in a way that wouldn't have me purposefully trying to lure him away with biting words.

"Alissa, what's wrong?" Paul asked, his large hands tensing against my wrists. "You don't look well."

"Jared—he thinks you're going to hurt me. He thinks you're dangerous, because of your temper. And you believe it, too," I said quietly, watching his face to gauge a reaction. I wasn't surprised when his expression fell flat, a prominent frown wrinkling his brow. "That's why you didn't fight him when he made you drop me. You thought he was right to be afraid."

Paul didn't speak for several seconds, his face darkening the longer we stood in silence. Just as I was beginning to think I shouldn't have said anything at all, he spoke. "You've seen the way I am when I get angry, Alissa. I'm not a good guy. I've done terrible things to people, and I barely feel any guilt for it. But if there's one thing I do know, it's that I would never, _ever_ hurt you. No matter how angry I get. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something happened to you."

I could see in his eyes that he meant every word. It was the most raw and genuine I'd ever seen him be. I couldn't think of any words to say in that moment, so I ducked my head instead, a burning in my face telling me what shade my cheeks were. How _embarrassed_ I was.

Paul let out a breath, one that crystallized in the cold, wintry air. He took a finger and gently tipped up my chin. "You still haven't told me what I can do to fix this," he muttered.

There were so many things he'd never be able to fix. Things he couldn't change, or find solutions to. He couldn't take back the hurt and anger I had felt for the past seven months, or restore my faith and trust in Jared.

But I was tired of being angry. I was tired of this paper-thin thread I had tying me to my current reality, where all I was capable of doing was holding grudges and hurting others the same way they hurt me.

Looking into Paul's eyes had an effect I wasn't quite used to. Anytime we stared into each other's eyes, a peaceful calm came over me, washing away every spade of tension that linked into a leeching slug that sucked out all the good from me.

 _Almost like he was my own form of gravity._

* * *

Hours after we separated, I continued to entertain the thought of forgiving him. It was nearly nine at night, and Dad had given me a list of items he wanted from the grocery store, as well as the keys to his car, and I barely remembered anything. I was so lost in my thoughts that anything he said to me was a blur, and I only had a collection of shard-like memories as a way to piece together what he had said and told me to do. The keys and torn, coffee-stained grocery list that had somehow ended up in my hands helped, too.

It didn't take long before I got to the grocery mart. It was just twenty minutes away from my house, and was the only building in a three-mile radius from where it was located. The grocery mart was a small, homely building, and was old enough that the letters spelling out Pic-Pac were tilting this-way and that, rusted to the point they looked painted orange. The brick siding was molded in some places, and covered in ferns in others. Not as old as some of the other shops on the reserve, but that didn't make it any less ancient-looking in comparison to the shops in Forks.

I had the grocery-list crumbled up in my coat pocket while the keys were twirling from my ring-finger. Unable to stand the stiff silence occupying the car lot, I hummed a lousy rendition of the Ghostbusters theme song.

My thoughts were chaotic, ranging from _I hope they have ketchup chips_ to _Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters._

No matter how loud I was to any passersby, it didn't stop the wind as it whistled in my ears. The chill that went up and down my spine. Or the lowly, ancient voice as it whispered, " _Alissa."_

I stopped walking. "Who's there?"

The wind shrilled and whistled in my ear. As I glanced around, I saw trees shaking and shrubbery rustling. The voice said again, though this time much louder, " _Alissa."_

"What? Alissa what?" I was beginning to be afraid. The voice was disembodied, and it almost sounded like it was coming from right beside me. Yet when I looked around, there was no one in sight.

Something cold touched my arm. I jerked back, whirling around wildly. The voice was there again, though this time, it sounded much more frantic, much more inhumane. "The Cullens will return," it snarled.

 _The Cullens._ I knew next to nothing about them, but everyone on the reserve collectively thought of them as the Cold Ones, the ones from the legends. "What about the Cullens?" I said uneasily. I felt crazy. Who was I talking to? No one but myself, it seemed. I wondered for a brief moment if I was going insane.

The voice whispered, "The Swan girl, she will draw them back. They will return. And with them comes a great enemy."

I shook my head. "That's ridiculous." Bella was just a normal girl—an _idiotic_ one, but normal, nonetheless. And what was this about an enemy? _What_ enemy?

" _Not_ ridiculous," said the voice, more heatedly. It didn't sound happy with my tone. "You are in danger. You are _Gifted_. They will try to take that from you, just as they will your father."

"My—what?" My heart began to pound at the sound of my father being in danger. Even though I was confused beyond belief, and I found this entire conversation to be nothing but a figment of my imagination, I also couldn't stop listening. I was concerned that there was truth hidden behind the cryptic messages. "My Dad's not in danger. And I'm not… _gifted,_ or whatever."

"You are of age now," said the voice. When I looked around for a third time, I found myself jumping back—my hand coming up to cover my mouth as I let out a shriek. I was no longer alone. A ghostly-looking man was standing beside me, looking eerily similar to the painting of Taha Aki my Dad had in his study. He had a hard look on his face, but it was almost emotionless. I wondered if this was the way humans looked in the afterlife, holding a certain deadness to features that once sprouted with liveliness. "In communicating with me, you show that you have now gained your Affinity. You are linked to the dead."

 _You are linked to the dead._ I mumbled these words to myself, looking at this man—this, this _spirit_ with a dawning horror. The rational part of me thought this was bullshit, but the part that thought there was some truth to the legends of the Cold Ones and the Spirit Warriors wasn't so sure.

"I don't believe any of this," I said instead, knowing damned well I did. I was watching the spirit with increasing unease, wondering why he was speaking to me. Wondering what the point to this conversation was.

A hint of amusement tweaked at the ends of the spirit's lips. Before I could question him, he backed away from me and turned into a wolf.

The rational part screamed out, "He's a spirit! He can't touch you!" but that didn't stop me from thinking he was real and fumbling to the ground, a loud shriek leaving me. I crab-crawled away from the wolfman, growing more and more antsy as he shook out his fur and began to slowly follow.

"D-Don't…" I stuttered, a gravel-coated hand reaching up and turning sideways, palm-out, as he inched closer. He stopped instantly, his chocolatey eyes following my every move. "What the fuck…" This was all just a hallucination, wasn't it? I was tricking myself into believing I had some sort of power, and could talk to the dead. Yeah, sure! I was _Alissa Cameron_ , your average, everyday medium.

The wolfman barked, and it sounded funny. I wondered if he was laughing at me. His voice sounded in my head, just as gravely and inhumane: _In every generation of the Camerons, one child bears the Affinity. In rare cases, two children have it. In your generation's case, only you have it. Your father is the one who had it before you. He is your tribe council's emissary._

I knew my father was on the council, and before that, it was my grandfather. But the council _emissary?_ I didn't understand that. I could only assume he was an advisor of sorts. That wasn't the biggest thing on my mind, however—"So… my brother doesn't have this?" I felt a bit smug, before quickly stamped down that feeling. This wasn't real. I was imagining things, trying to make myself feel bigger than I actually was. And it worked, if only for a moment.

The wolfman shook his large, fuzzy head. _Your brother is a Spirit-Warrior._

I bit my lip deeply, until I tasted blood. "What is a Spirit Warrior?" I asked the wolfman. It had been so long since I last went to a bonfire that I barely remembered the blood and grit of our ancestral stories. However, I knew some things, and if this was more than a hallucination, if this was _true,_ then it occurred to me there was more to Jared's behavior and his actions than I originally believed.

 _A shapeshifter,_ said the wolfman simply. _He is who must protect the tribe. Protect innocents from the Cold Ones._

I sucked in a breath.

Was this real? Or was this just some sort of fantastical bullshit I concocted in my head?

"Hey!" said from the storefront. I turned to look over at the grocery mart, where a man was standing outside of the automatic door with a hand waving in my direction. "Are you alright?"

It must have looked pretty funny to anyone else, me lounging against the pavement and staring at an imaginary person. _Talking_ to the air. I swallowed hard at the thought, at how utterly _crazy_ I looked to this man, and raised a shaky thumbs-up. "I'm fine! Just fell." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

The man didn't say anything. If he had been there for long enough, then he knew I was lying and that I was either tripping on LSD or had an imaginary friend. He went back inside the walkway. I loosened a long-held breath I'd been keeping.

I felt the spirit come closer, so close I felt sparks fluttering across my skin. _People are going to die if you do not save them,_ the wolfman told me, a solemnness in his voice that told me this wasn't a joke. _It's up to you to save the pack._

We met eyes head-on. I gave a nod, swallowing deeply.

The spirit suddenly began to glow, and I let out a whimper when a light shone directly from his body to my hand. He disintegrated right before my very eyes, and each piece went straight into my palm, giving it a strange, yellowy saturation that made me nearly weep from discomfort.

Even after he was gone, I continued to sit there. Thinking about what he said. Wondering if any of this were actually true, or if I was just going fucking insane.

But when I glanced at my hand a second time… it was to see a crescent moon tattooed across my palm. I scrubbed hard at it, rubbed the balms of my hands into my eyes, but each time I looked back, it was still there.

And without a doubt, I knew it was all real.

* * *

 _A/N: Yo guys. Sorry for the long wait on this chapter; again, I had writer's block and didn't have a fucking clue on what direction to go. At some point I need to edit the chapters to make the flow more believable and less sloppy, but we'll do that when the story gets a little less fluid-y._

 _This is probably not the way you all wanted Alissa to find out about shapeshifters, but don't worry. There's going to be a lot of angst and action in upcoming chapters. Since the vampire big-bads from Eclipse won't be coming for quite a while, I'll be introducing my own antagonists/AU elements to keep this story interesting. What kind of problems do you want to see Alissa face? Vampire or werewolf or maybe even hunters?_


	10. Chapter X

**CHAPTER X: THE GIRL WHO CRIED WOLF  
**

 **DAD DIDN'T EVEN GET** ** _HALF_** of what he had on his list. As though in a fugue state, I went through the grocery mart witless, grabbing only the basics for a week's worth of groceries; eggs, milk, bread, butter, and bottled water. I remembered him telling me to grab a few cans of marinara sauce, for spaghetti and pasta, but the confused, angry part of me feigned forgetfulness as spite.

My mind was frantic. I was desperate to think back on all previous encounters I had with Paul, with Jared, with Dad. Were there signs? If Jared was a shapeshifter, did that mean Paul was, too? Or Dad?

 _Sam has to be one,_ I thought with a dawning frown. _Jared follows him around like a lost dog._

So did Paul. So did Embry.

They all had long hair and lanky figures before they started following Sam. But the moment they cut off contact with everyone else, with anyone but their little _clique_ , they grew taller, bulkier. They cut their hair and got matching tattoos. They became feverishly warm, something I noticed whenever Paul or Jared would touch me.

And when they were angry, they would _shake_. Paul never shook before he started following Sam; but after, after he _changed,_ he was so much easier to anger. And it was like a monster was beneath his skin, trying to claw its way out.

I thought back on the day in the cafeteria, when Paul attacked Jeremiah. It never occurred to me how exactly he _heard_ Jeremiah's insults. We were separated by quite a few yards, and even though Paul was in eyesight, he never would have been able to hear me over the boisterous laughing and talking of our peers.

If what the spirit told me was true, then it meant that the boys had supernatural hearing. It meant they had (well, probably: _that_ was 'to be determined') supernatural strength. Things I never would have believed if it wasn't for the signs—signs I ignored when I believed the legends to be nothing but fables, stories made up for the entertainment of tribal children.

It explained the unwarranted hatred that the entire tribe held against the Cullens, if they truly were the Cold Ones. And it explained why Jared and Paul called themselves protectors, why they acted like a cult, and why they warded away others who didn't have that same damned tattoo— _Jesus Christ, it all makes sense._

How could I be so _blind_?

Ignoring the clerk as he told me to have a very nice day, I barely paid any attention as I walked out of Pic-Pac. I walked over to my car—well, my _Dad's_ car—slowly, so much slower than my usual pace, holding the grocery bags tight in my grasp. The unmindful part of me wondered if I still had time to run in the local drug store and pick up stain remover for the coffee stain on the passenger seat, while the paranoid part couldn't stop my eyes from flickering around, waiting with bated breath for something to jump from the shadows.

Surprisingly, my paranoia wasn't so far off the mark for once. I had a _right_ to be afraid.

A shriek caught itself in my throat when I saw limbs materialize from the darkness. A ghostly woman appeared in front of me, blood covering her from head to foot. She had a gash in the side of her neck, and from what I could tell of her misshapen figure, a broken back. Blood was spilling into her eyes from the open wounds on her scalp. She whispered, "He is here." She was looking over my shoulder, at the front of the grocery mart.

" _Who_ is here?" I asked. A sardonic voice said, _The pizza man,_ while another one whispered, _A monster._ My fingernails dug into the skin of my palms and I felt my blood freeze. Not even an hour ago, I learned the truth of shapeshifters, and here I was, being told by a newer, scarier-looking ghost that _someone_ was behind me.

" _He's_ here. _He's here_. You are not ready," cried the woman, eyes beady and black. They turned bloodshot as red pulp drowned in them.

I had yet to turn around.

"I've heard many things about those with affinities." The voice was deep and velvety. There were no footsteps, yet the hair on the nape of my neck curled, as though there was someone watching. _A predator._ "But none so widespread as the stories about your father."

"It runs in my family. Are there others?" I should not have spoken. There was no mistaking the sarcasm in my voice; from what I knew, there _were_ no other families. I was taunting him, knowing there was nothing I could do, if this was where I'd meet my fate. As I always did, I let my wit outweigh my brawns, relying on sarcasm as a defense mechanism.

The man chuckled, the sound _dark_ and haunting. It was almost scathing, sending a chill along my throat and down to my stomach. "I have been alive for a long time, young one. I have met many of your predecessors."

 _Did you kill any?_ I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue. Angering this man, this _creature,_ would do more harm than good. I decided on a light approach; I told him, "Then you must be well over a century old."

"Indeed," he said simply. "Do you know why I am here?"

"No," I said. I was watching the spirit in front of me, listening to her rapid, borderline-insane murmurs, trying to ignore the fear as it crept up my spine, as it wracked me with shudders. "Why are you here?"

"Those with affinities are quite _valuable_ to vampires," the man told me. I sucked in a sharp breath. "Did you know that vampires can hold similar powers? Some are benign while others are… Quite violent." There was a smile in his voice. "I am here for your father."

"You won't be getting him," I said. I was scared, but I wouldn't let the fear of being mutilated shake my defenses when it came to my Dad. I wasn't going to let this guy intimidate me. _Yet you already are._ I ignored the voice. "And you won't be getting me, either."

The vampire laughed. "Is that so?" There was an edge to his voice. I could only assume he was mocking me. "You are but a girl, one without any knowledge of her powers, of what she can do. You are _slow_. You are but a child."

I dropped the grocery bags to my feet. The spirit in front of me watched warily as I curled my hands into fists.

He was right. I didn't know a single thing about my powers. I didn't know what an emissary was. And what was this reputation my Dad had with vampires? Nothing good, I was sure.

I turned around to face the vampire.

He was good-looking, but any sort of warmth I felt looking at his facial symmetry and bark-colored locks turned cold at the sight of his bloody-red eyes. The smile on his face showed a set of perfect white teeth, including a pair of _incisors_ , that gleamed menacingly. He was tall and muscular, with a famished look on his face.

He was hungry.

 _He wanted to kill me._

"I will leave your father a message," he said, inching closer. He was slow, and I knew it was intentional; he wanted to mock my human speed. "He will not handle it well to find his daughter's broken, mutilated body as a centerpiece on the news… And he will give me what I want."

My face paled, knees locking into place. _Fuck,_ I thought frantically; _what kind of situation did you get yourself into now, idiot?_ I whirled around, to face the dead lady.

I was being looked at as though I were the next obituary for the local newspaper. The blood-soaked ghost whispered, "You are going to die."

 _No, I'm not. No, I'm not. No, I'm not._ Maybe I'd unlock my powers—whatever the fuck they were—by desperate prayer. _Dear God, please don't let me die like this. I always thought I'd die from something crazy and adrenaline-inducing, like skydiving. Not being torn apart by something I didn't even know existed until today. Tonight, actually. Please?_

"What's the first thing you do when faced with an enemy whose strengths outmatch your own?" said the vampire dude. A very strange question, coming from a killing machine who only moments ago was threatening to tear me apart.

I clenched my eyes shut, resigned to my fate, and said, "Let them kill you."

The vampire sighed. "That is not a viable answer," he said, sounding like he was… Was this old bastard _scolding_ me? Did he _want_ me to fight back? No-could-do, Mr. I-Eat-People; I had already accepted my fate. I was too lazy to change my mind. "When faced with a stronger enemy, you must rely on observation. You have to find your enemy's _weaknesses_."

"What kind of weaknesses does a fucking vampire have?" I asked, not intending for a response. The question was rhetorical. I went on; "Yeah, thought so. None!"

"There are two things in this world capable of killing a vampire. Those of their own kind, and shapeshifters. They are virtually indestructible. That is why, Alissa, your powers are so remarkable."

The walking deathmonger in front of me suddenly turned to dust.

I turned slowly around, facing the vampire again—only to watch, with an agape jaw, as the pale, indestructible vampire began to disintegrate. However, it didn't just stop there; his limbs became corded with wrinkles, growing shorter, and the clothes melted off the figure as it appeared. Now, the figure was the same Taha-Aki lookalike I'd spoken to minutes and minutes ago, in this very parking lot.

"What—who—what…" I shook my head, completely bewildered. "What the fuck?"

Taha Aki approached me, looking every bit as haunting and translucent as he was just thirty minutes ago, give or take. "You listen more when you think you are in danger," he told me. "I learned that from our interaction just moments before."

"You know, _usually_ , the unexpected mentor waits a couple days to bother their trainee. It's like that in every movie or book. But you—you waited _thirty minutes._ " I shook my head, scowling. "This is bullshit. I didn't sign up for unscripted visits."

He seemed unfazed, possibly having dealt with the same distressed outbursts from my ancestors. I wouldn't know; this dude didn't seem to have a sense of humor, or have time for chitchat. He barely flinched at my half-bit ramble, and said to me, "Those words were not an illusion. They were a vision. Your father is in great danger, child. As are you."

"What about Jared?" I asked. A part of me still cared about that dickweed's wellbeing, even if I despised him.

"There is no rarity in the abilities of Spirit Warriors," said the spirit dismissively. _Wouldn't they want to hurt people we care about, though?_ Hurt where the heart was. It was like that in the movies. "While the Volturi may not know your father's location, or even your own existence. they know of the great things your family is capable of. One of your great ancestors, Dakota, was actually _turned._ He is a consultant of the Volturi."

"Dakota?" _Volturi? The fuck is that—some sort of drug empire?_ I sucked my lip underneath my teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully. "If he had shapeshifter genetics, wouldn't the vampire venom have killed him?" I was following a whim on my thoughts.

By the unimpressed look on Taha Aki's face, I was nowhere close to the truth. "Being an emissary, he had no shapeshifter blood. Merely emissary. It is told that the blood of an emissary mixed with the venom of a vampire creates one of the strongest creatures a mortal may ever face."

I smirked. "You trying to tell me something, creepy dude?" He was no longer a pallid, cryptic-worded vampire, but he remained a pain in my ass, with a manner of speaking that was _just_ as cryptic. In conclusion—I liked neither one. I preferred my previous existence, in which I thought I was a perfectly normal human-being with far too much kick-ass for one puny body. Much simpler times… I could _weep,_ just thinking about it.

The spirit didn't smile, and his formidable pose didn't waver. He said, "You are still in negation of your heritage. I cannot allow that. Waiting for you to realize the truth could set into motion a turbulent chain of events, none of them wise or good. You will endanger every person you love." His eyes were like steel as they met mine. "You will tip the balance between peace and outright catastrophe."

"Jesus H. Christ, you make me sound like… well, like _God_ or something." I shook my head. Sure, maybe I was in a _little_ bit of disbelief (read: denial), but after that freaky tattoo appeared on my palm, I was more than a little perturbed. And I certainly was ready to believe this wasn't a psychotic episode… sort of. I still had my doubts. Okay, maybe this spirit had a _right_ to be wary. "I _know_ this is real! In whatever realm of consciousness I am in right now, this is _totally_ real."

"Go to your father," instructed the spirit. He seemed far too wise and old to endure my games. He surprisingly managed well, though, and didn't call me a petulant child; I called that a _win_ in both our books. "He will teach you control and endurance."

"And what will _you_ teach me, oh great one?" There had to be a reason why he was the one spirit, of thousands, to seek me out… and offer me guidance.

"I will teach you how to harness the prowess of a thousand warriors," he said. _Um, what?_ "You will need not rely on others—namely, your generation's Spirit Warriors—for protection."

I snorted. _Yeah, right. Me, protect myself from immortals? What a fucking joke._ But he seemed serious.

The Taha-Aki lookalike—who I was starting to think maybe was _the_ Taha Aki—disintegrated again. I watched him, a disgruntled arch in my brows.

When he was gone, I rushed to my Dad's car. I absentmindedly put the groceries in the backseat, then hopped in the driver's seat.

I didn't bother to buckle in. I let out a hot breath and slammed my head against the wheel.

The horn went off. It was terribly loud. But I ignored the bewildered grocery clerk as he came hauling out of the store, probably annoyed with me for being such a public disturbance, in favor of reversing. Then turning off onto the broken blacktop.

I was quiet and contemplative on the drive home.

And when I got there, I was none-too-thrilled to see Jared on the front-porch. Paul was with him. It looked like the two of them had just gotten back from somewhere.

I glanced at the moon, as it lay overhead. With how dark and cold it was, it had to be around 11 at night. Maybe even _midnight._ I wasn't surprised. That ghost-dude spent a long ass while drilling into me.

Ghost. Spirit Warrior. Emissary.

 _Those fuckers._

I pulled into the driveway, a bit too swift for a place without much space. Unlike a parking lot, where there was a _surplus_ of space. Ignoring the heated stares I was getting from the two assholes on the porch, I hopped out, pulling Dad's keys and my lovely wallet with me. I whistled. The sound was loud and annoying, and I hoped with every inch of life in me that it hurt those half-wolf nimrods' ears. I grabbed out the two grocery bags I had in the backseat, and used one hand—the hand not holding the keys and wallet—to carry them. I walked _slowly_ , to purposefully annoy Dickweed and Butthead.

Jared looked angry when I stepped up onto the porch, his face knit into a scowl. "It's almost midnight, Alissa," he told me, all slow-like—like I needed a fucking speech lesson.

I smiled sweetly. "Perfect observation there, dickweed," I said, my smile growing even sweeter when his face flashed violently. I really wanted him to show his true colors. Did anger trigger the shift? Maybe that was the key. Maybe all I needed to do was hit him where it hurt most. _But how?_ "But I don't need a revisit to primary school clockwork lessons. Save the lecture for Father Time; he's a _real_ Wild Man."

Jared opened his mouth but closed it immediately afterward, wordless. He looked tired, as though he had been through the ringer a couple too many times. But there were no cuts, no bruises. Just dark circles painted across his under-eyes. A tiredness that seemed to strengthen the longer he was on his feet.

 _Do not pity him,_ I thought, my jaw clenching. I could almost feel my teeth grinding against one another, a violent clacking that rang torturously in my ears. _He doesn't deserve it._

But the doting, sisterly part of me wanted to pamper and cater to his every need.

We must have stayed silent for far too long, because our secondary porch-lingerer cleared his throat. Paul glanced at Jared, then at me, his expression taut. "It's dangerous," he said. "You shouldn't be here out at this time of night. What if something happened to you?"

It occurred to me, then, all the times I was told a similar sentiment, all by Jared. On date nights, or when I was going out with friends. Anytime it was dark. _It's dangerous out there, Alissa. You'll get hurt._ It may have hurt my pride to admit it, but Jared wasn't trying to control me by keeping me home. They kept me there, where he knew I was safe, so I'd be out of the crossfire from shapeshifters and vampires alike.

It made me want to vomit. I didn't want to empathize with Jared. I didn't want to forgive him. It put a horrible taste in my mouth.

 _No. No. No. I won't._ I refused.

"I'm alive, so who cares?"

My easy dismissal must have awoken my brother's vocals, because he suddenly snapped his head up from the porch flooring to stare at me, and said— "Stay home at night. Alright?"

I wanted to scream from frustration. " _Dad's_ the one who wanted me to go!" I said in protest. The look he gave me, it screamed ' _I literally don't know what to do with you anymore'_ and I did _not_ appreciate it. Especially when it was Dad who needed me to get groceries in the first place; Jared had no inkling of that, though, and assumed I did every little thing just to tick him off.

Was he far from the truth? No. But this time, I truly didn't intend to provoke him. I was just buying food.

Jared did not believe me. "You could have told him _no_ ," he said matter-of-factly.

A lurch in my stomach told me I was irate, and I let it show on my face. I scowled. "He's our _Dad_ , dumbass. Telling him 'no' is like telling Hitler he shouldn't invade Poland. _Fucking useless_!"

Paul placed his hand on my arm, squeezing lightly. When I glanced at him, it was to see his expression shifting, eyes reading a big fat ' _Don't provoke him._ ' So similar to Sam on that cliff. Like I was one word away from triggering the Big Bad Wolf.

Of course, I never realized the extent of that statement. But now, it truly registered just how much of a life-or-death matter it was. If I continued to provoke him, he would unleash the beast from within, and I'd be at the mercy of fate and karma, whether good or bad.

Did the beast evade reason? Did humanity leave the moment anger reached its peak?

The way Paul looked when he fought Jeremiah that day in the cafeteria, it was more than anger I saw in his eyes. It was like a primal rage had taken grasp of his humanity, and shoved it outside a window. He beat Jeremiah within an inch of his consciousness, chipped a tooth—and there was anything but empathy in his gaze. No guilt, or sudden realization for the extent of his actions. No, even if he _was_ dissociated during that time of anger, the way he looked afterward, he certainly didn't look very remorseful.

If I asked him now whether he felt any remorse for beating the shit out of Jeremiah, I knew his answer. And I was sure that he'd _never_ regret losing himself to the monster within. If he had no care for a person, then their wellbeing was not a priority.

If he was provoked, then surely the provoker deserved the coming fate. _Surely_ it was inevitable.

Right?

"Alissa? Alissa." Jared waved a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my unconscious subconscious internal debate. I raised my gaze to his, just as the hazy image of a bloody, disheveled Paul left the forefront of my mind. "Are you even listening?"

I shouldered away his hand. "Does it _look_ like I was listening?" By his expression, he knew that, but he looked like he had wanted a different answer. I sneered. "Ugh. I'm done talking to you clowns. Be dears and put up the groceries, will you?" I shoved the two bags into Jared's hands.

Jared stared at the bags, then at me. "Alissa—"

 _Bring him out into the open,_ said a voice, from within my head. _Make him angry. See what he does._

A stupid, flaw-ridden plan, one that could wind me up in a hospital with gauze aligning every part of my body, but a morbidly curious part of me didn't _care._

Maybe fear would trigger my powers, just as anger triggered his.

 _You were afraid when you faced Taha Aki,_ reminded that same sadistic voice. _What makes you think it will save you now?_

I did not answer. "Give the bags to Paul," I told Jared, then nodded my head in the direction of our father's car. "I have more in the car."

Jared did as I asked him, a look of apprehension on his face. He looked like he didn't believe me. But he gave the bags to Paul anyway, ignored the bewildered look on his best friend's face, and followed me down the stairs.

I looked at my palm, feet freezing in their place. The crescent moon wasn't very vibrant, painted a dark black in contrast to my tanned skin, but it seemed to turn alight with beams the moment my eyes fell upon it. I placed my second palm atop it, dragging a finger along the lines—and I nearly gasped when it suddenly glowed bright.

Jared had also stopped walking. "Alissa, I thought we were getting more bags?" He sounded even more nervous than before. Maybe he thought I was going to commit homicide. Sure, the idea crossed my mind—but I didn't have the _guts_ for murder.

I turned to look at him. I wracked my brain for things I could say that would abuse his control, that would test his limits, but I found nothing. From all our arguments before, it was as though he was one with his wolf, and he was hard to rile. Unlike Paul, who was volatile, and anything and everything could— _would_ —piss him off. My gaze traveled back to my palm, growing awe-filled at the way it brightened upon my attention.

 _Taha Aki never said what my powers are,_ I thought, frowning to myself. _Can I force a shift?_

"Alissa, why are you staring at your hand?" Jared asked. "You're starting to _really_ freak me out."

I looked at him. He was watching me, warily, and he had a twist to his lips that almost made him seem like he was scowling. But he wasn't. He was just anxious—he didn't know what to expect from me. He didn't know whether I'd suddenly yell at him, or attempt to hit him.

I marched forward. My hand was still growing, and I caught the look of confusion and horror on Jared's face. He began to back away from me, eying me like _I_ was a bad guy, but I ignored it. I dodged his hand as he attempted to grab me by the wrist. He was fast, but I was determined, and my determination out-beat his will to avoid my unwarranted touches.

I did as I had intended, as I had wanted since the idea first crossed my mind—

I grabbed his head between my palms, my crescent tattoo aligning with his left ear. I could feel its power throbbing from within me, like I had veins brimming with light.

" _Shift,"_ I whispered.

Jared didn't move, nor fight off my loose grip. He merely stared, like he no longer knew me. There was a look of horrified understanding in his eyes. He was obviously bewildered; I could almost hear him now— _How does she know?_

 _Shift._

 _Shift._

 _Shift._

The front door burst open. Jared hardly even flinched. I peered around his shoulder, eyes searching for the sudden intruder—and I felt a frown appear on my lips when I found my father and Paul standing in the doorway. Paul no longer had groceries, so I knew he must have gone inside to put them away. But my father… why was he here?

 _Did he know?  
_

Paul tried to rush forward, but Dad grabbed him, muttering something inaudible. Dad yelled, " _Alissa, don't!_ "

My hand turned stark-white, growing incomprehensibly bright. Jared's face began to pale, too. He started trembling.

A growl came rushing out, his lips curling into a sneer. His dark-brown eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head; his pupils dilated, eyes turning even darker. The hands at his waist suddenly reached up, and grabbed onto my wrists.

He tried pulling me off, but I shook at him. I pressed harder. So hard that Jared let out a yell of pain, like the light in my hand had _burned_ him.

"I just want to _see_ him," I said breathlessly. "He won't hurt me. I won't let him."

He wouldn't hurt me. He couldn't. He wouldn't. I'd _never_ allow another man to pain me.

But Red Riding Hood was never a match for the Big Bad Wolf.

Neither were the Three Pigs for their predator.

The little boy who cried wolf could only watch and cry as his sheep were powerlessly slaughtered, with no one there to save him.

They were stronger, faster. More intelligent than anyone ever gave them credit for.

Though I tried, I would never be anything but a weak, helpless human.

Odin was no match for Fenrir.

 _And I was no match for my brother._

* * *

 _A/N: I was listening to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack while I wrote this so that's probably why I made it so tense and angsty lmfao._

 _I hope you guys enjoyed this! It's kinda long, so whoops about that, and it kinda ends on a cliffhanger, another oops, but hey! I finally got the motivation to finish it._

 _Did you guys enjoy it? I keep going through periods of motivation and demotivation because I feel like it's shitty and not very good? Idk_

 _On another note, what would you all like to see in upcoming chapters? You probably think the prank war has slipped my mind because it hasn't been mentioned in, like, five years, but it's just because all sorts of other shit have been happening. It's not a current priority for any of the characters, and honestly, I'm thinking about just having someone beat the holy hell out of Jacob as a substitute. He's not going to change from being one of Alissa's enemies and he'll definitely be at the root of some of Alissa's future problems_

 _Are y'all excited for her to find out about imprinting? Who would you like her to find out about it from?_

 _Thank you to everyone who has favorited, followed, or reviewed so far! Y'all make me feel better whenever I feel like this book is complete shit heh_

 _See y'all soon!_


	11. Chapter XI

**CHAPTER XI: SHATTER ME GENTLY**

 **"** Everybody is a book of blood;  
whenever we're opened, we're red. **"**

 _Clive Barker, Books of Blood: Volumes One-Three_

* * *

They say that when you are hanging on the edge of life, with no threshold to cling to, there is a light. You see your memories, _feel them,_ and your body goes numb, resigned to its fate of renewed uselessness. Everyone you've ever loved or cared for is at the forefront of your mind, and the only reason you struggle—the only reason you try your hardest to stay—is to see them one last time. Your organs shut down, and your eyes stay closed.

What they don't tell you about is the darkness.

And the emptiness.

When you are the cusp of death, there is nothing waiting for you in bardo. Nothing tantalizing you to stay, nothing urging you to go. There is no leftover emotion, no sadness or remorse. All that awaits you is an empty, heart-heavy feeling.

You don't even ache. You just remember.

There's no fondness, either.

In my memories, there was a blank space of the time leading up to when I fell into darkness. No matter how many times I reached, or rechecked the timeline, I came up blank. There was smoke fogging that part of my life, that part of my memories, keeping me from knowing what had caused this state.

It was horrifying. I wanted to leave. I didn't care if that leaving was through death or through continued life. I didn't care if all I had for the rest of my soul's existence was regret, if I were to die, or bitterness, if I were to live; this place I was in, it was not a happy place. If I were capable of fear, then I would be in a state of panic and paranoia.

 _Jared. Paul. Dad. Kallie._ I desperately thought of the names of anyone I had ever cared for, looking for an anchor. I was being irrational and stupid, letting myself believe that any alternative was better than enduring this Hell, being in bleak tandem, stuck in life-or-death turmoil, in a place that housed devils at every corner. But it was true. I did not want to be here. I wanted to be back in the real world, at my house, eating whatever concoction my Dad made for the night, playing board games with him and Jared like we used to. Regardless of our current crumbling relationship. Maybe Paul and Kallie could be there, too. We'd fabricate a family, and let that be my reality for the night.

Here, I had all the time in the world to think. Maybe not to regret, or ridicule the mistakes it took to get me here, since I was missing memories and didn't have the ability to _feel_ like I wanted, but it was like I still _knew_ how to fear, and I used that label on these fast-paced, irrational thoughts saying, _I want to go home, I don't want to be here, let me leave, please please please._ Emotions were just words, words we used to describe sudden lurches in our state of minds. Influenced by every itty-bitty inconvenience, fucked over by sudden, fateful changes in our relationships and environments.

I wasn't human here. I had eyes and feet; there were ears at my temples, and digits on the ends of my limbs—but my psyche, it was _different_. I couldn't apply feelings to my thoughts. My state of mind, it was not real.

It was almost as though I were in a dream.

 _A dream._ Yes. It explained the shadows that materialized at every corner, how they crept up to my stationary form yet _failed_ to damage me. It explained why my thoughts were plagued by paranoia, but I was not immobilized by fear; why my heart was not beating, like a human heart should, and why I had the ability to think, as normal people should, but there wasn't any feeling to it.

"Lucid dreaming," said Dream Me. And it cemented in me, that this wasn't reality, this wasn't bardo, this wasn't _anything_ ; it was just a fucking dream.

 _I'm not dying._

I peered around, absorbing every inch of the darkness. There was no exit. No immediate route for escape. But there had to be a way to snap out of this.

There had to be a way to wake up. I couldn't just wait for the dream to reach its end, and for consciousness to find me. It needed to be forced.

It had to end, before I went fucking insane.

But there was nothing. I was surrounded by darkness— _shrouded_ in the damned stuff. I couldn't see a thing, not even my hands. If I even _had_ hands.

Did I have nothing? Or was I _just_ a state of mind? Not physical, not real.

Just imagined. An illusion.

Then, something happened.

It was like a light flickered on in this Hell. The darkness disappeared, and in its place was a meadow. But this meadow, it seemed familiar. It was in the midst of a circle of trees. Everything was green, from the trees to the shrubbery to the meadow grass.

I looked down. I had a body. I had hands and feet and the limbs that connected to them. A torso, and clothes to tie the human aesthetic together.

Why was I here?

As though the fates overheard my question, I heard a growl. And it was like nothing I had ever heard before. It sounded deadly. Like a predator who had finally hunted down his prey, and he was moving in for the kill.

But there was nothing around.

I twisted my head sideways, looking over my shoulder, but there was nothing there. Just scenery, the same as in front of me. Then there was another growl. It came from beside me. I looked there.

And again, I saw nothing.

"Where the fuck are you?" I asked aloud. This was all in my head, so I probably could have _thought_ something and still had it answered, but it felt like a comfort that I could speak. I felt like I _needed_ to speak. There wasn't an itch, or a sense of urgency, but my mouth needed to open, so I let my vocal cords sing their chorus.

They did.

And the next growl wasn't just an echo.

When I looked beside me again, there was a wolf. It was silver—not the color of mercury, but two or three shades darker—and gigantic, larger than any animal I'd seen in my life, even bears. It had humanlike eyes, with an uncanny brown color that made me think of… It couldn't be. No.

Brown eyes were common for wolves. And if this were the apparition of one of Sam Uley's pack—and part of my heart knew it, for regular wolves were nowhere near the size of this wolf—brown eyes would be just as common, for all of the shapeshifters had them. So truly, I did not know who this was. But the eyes were familiarly safe—inviting, even. Eyes I could get lost in.

For the first time in this dream, I could pinpoint a feeling.

In the presence of this wolf, I was content. If there were pieces missing of my puzzle, they had been found. I felt whole. Complete.

 _Paul._

"Paul." I wanted to ask him why he was here, why _I_ was here, but he was a wolf. Not human. He wouldn't be able to answer me. I also wanted to _yell_ at him, ask him why he never told me the truth. I could forgive him, if I knew there had been something forbidding him from doing so. If I knew it had nothing to do with me, and _everything_ to do with himself.

I couldn't get rid of the memory of our chat. The one we had after a mutual detention. Paul had said he'd stopped talking to me because _Jared_ told him to.

My memories were not as solid as I would have liked. Sometimes I felt as though they weren't reliable, while most of the time, they were _all_ I could rely on. For the longest time, my memories were my only friends, and I used them as my one source of happiness. After Jared and Paul abandoned me, I stopped talking to everyone. I was at war with the world, with myself, and couldn't bring myself to pretend everything was okay.

I was angry. Paul left me at a time when I had just started to think I loved him. Jared took him. Bitterness became my new best friend. When I thought about Paul, the only guy I had ever truly cared about, and Jared, my best friend and brother, I didn't have any happy memories. As they say, you should be glad that it happened, not that it's over—but I wasn't glad _or_ sad. I was mad. I wanted to throw things, hurt people, maybe even hurt myself—do _something_ to fight against the tumultuous resentment as it raged inside me.

When people leave you, with no note, no explanation, you're not obliged to handle it with dignity. There's no rule telling you to pick up your own pieces and move on.

I didn't pick up my own pieces. I still hadn't, even after an explanation was bestowed upon me. Some people filled their voids with alcohol and drugs. Others did it with sex. Some used pain. Some pretended to be okay, and went day by day until their picture-perfect reality fell apart.

What was I?

"Why didn't you stay?" I whispered. My ears were filled with cotton. I felt the words vibrate against my throat, saw Paul's ears twitch with the sound waves, but I didn't _hear_ myself speak them.

Paul glanced at the westward trees. He wouldn't meet my eyes. I knew what he was thinking. _I told you already. Jared didn't want me to._

I couldn't fathom why someone as free and independent as Paul let another person tell him what to do. Why he couldn't let his heart steer him in the right direction. Why he decided it was better for us to be nothing than for us to be anything at all.

 _I'm not safe to be around. I would have hurt you._

I shook my head. His departure was before his change. His change was only _recent_ , if I was correct in my assumptions of what a change looked like. And after his change, he began to _stop_ avoiding me. If anything, he wouldn't leave me alone.

"I don't understand you," I said. The words felt empty. "I don't understand any of this."

Paul shuffled closer. And for the first time, I didn't have to make up words for him. I heard his voice inside my head; _Wake up and I'll help you understand._

"How?"

 _Close your eyes._

I did.

And I heard him growl.

 _I love you, Alissa._

I wanted to tell him that I loved him too. That every time I tried to go out with someone, it was all a desperate attempt to get over him, to find someone who wasn't going to leave me the minute I got my head on straight. That when I swore at him, or acted like I didn't care, it was all for show. That I was hurt, and I didn't want to forgive him just for him to break my heart all over again.

But the world around me faded before I got a chance to.

* * *

I awoke in an unfamiliar room, on unfamiliar sheets, with unfamiliar clothes on my body. Of course, I didn't notice that at first. But as my eyes cracked open and I regained conscious thought, I began to grow aware of my surroundings. And that's when the fear kicked in.

That's when I registered the _pain._ I let out a hiss, a numb hand flying to the origin: my chest. There, I felt padding. "What the hell?"

Why was my chest covered in gauze?

I wracked my brain for any explanation, yet came up blank. I didn't remember getting into any accidents, and regardless, I was in what looked like a _bedroom,_ not a hospital room. If I were truly in something like a car accident, or a cliff-diving accident, I would have been there, not here.

 _What if it's wolf-related?_

Jared and them didn't know that I knew, however. How could I have been in a wolf accident if I had yet to be around them in that form?

 _Maybe you lost some of your memories,_ I thought. But that wasn't sensible. Yet, even in my dream, as I tried to think about the events leading up to sudden and absolute darkness, I found nothing.

Maybe I truly was forgetting something. Something important. Something that would tie all the pieces together.

Before I could continue to think about how I ended up here, the door opened. Sue Clearwater walked in. Behind her came Samuel Uley. The two seemed shocked to see me awake, sitting up on the bed and watching them enter silently.

"Oh, you're awake!" Sue said, looking relieved. She approached my bedside, and it was only then that I noticed the medical materials on the nightstand. Of course. She was the only family friend who knew how to handle the sight of blood. "How are you feeling, dear?"

"Uh…" I glanced at Sam. His gaze was very unnerving, and I felt myself being scrutinized by him. It was like I was under a microscope, and he was slowly beginning to figure me out. "What happened?"

Sue had originally been fiddling with another roll of gauze, but her handwork stopped the moment I asked that. Sam's gaze fell back on her, and my eyes followed. They instantly went back to Sam, however, when I noticed that Sue was looking at him, almost as though urging him to do something.

"Do you remember anything?" Sam asked me.

"I know that you're a shapeshifter. That Jared, Paul, and Embry are, too," I said. I felt as though I needed to tell him that I knew; it was probably the way he was staring at me, like I was a puzzle he needed to solve. It made me want to spill my deepest secrets. I did not like that feeling. "But I don't know how I ended up here."

Sam's face twisted into a frown. "Do you know what you are?"

 _How does he know about that?_ "What?" I didn't want to admit that I was something abnormal. It made my reality become just that—a reality. I wanted to continue to live in ignorance, regardless of how it impacted me and everyone around me. It would make things seem easier, even if they truly weren't.

Sam's eyes sharpened. "You forced Jared to shift. When he shifted, he attacked you." He was choosing his words carefully. I could tell. "He didn't mean to hurt you, Alissa. He feels terrible—"

"Wait," I burst out. "Is that why there's a bunch of gauze on my chest?"

 _A great accompaniment to that ugly gash on your head,_ I thought sarcastically. I wanted to tear it all off, to see just how badly my skin had been marred. _Maybe you need a sign on your back that says, "Walking disaster." Fucking idiot._

Sam looked pained. I couldn't tell if it was from the thought of what the wound looked like underneath the gauze, or if an unwanted memory had crept into his head. "Yes."

"Oh," I said dumbly. Like a dam, the memories came flooding back. I couldn't believe I had actually forced Jared to shift. I was sure that he was kicking himself, stressing about how I'd most likely be scarred for the rest of my life—unless I suddenly developed healing powers, and was able to make my flesh whole again.

 _You're a fucking idiot._ I was. There was nothing logical about forcing a shapeshifter to become wolf right in front of me, knowing damned well he had talons as sharp as scalpels and teeth even more life-threatening. It was irrational. It was stupid. I deserved the injury I got; maybe it would finally knock some sense into me.

Doubtful. I had always been a reckless person. I committed to actions without really processing their consequences—and I would continue to do foolish things, until one ended up getting me killed.

Sue sat quietly beside me, on a stool there, allowing me to drill Sam with questions. But I had one that was aimed at them both. I glanced at her, then at Sam. "Where is Paul?"

My question, though out of the blue, didn't startle either of them. Sue's worried gaze cleared, and she smiled weakly at me. "He's out in the living room. He's been worried sick since you first got here; he's hardly been home. Do you want me to send him in?"

I didn't even think about my answer. I said, "Yes, please."

Sue nodded, then hurriedly left the room.

I was now alone with Sam, who looked sad. I wanted to know why, but I also didn't want to pry into his private business. So I held my tongue.

"We'll talk later," Sam said. His eyes were on my collarbone, the area where gauze began. He looked the epitome of guilty, which made absolutely no sense, because it wasn't him who had left me injured and unconscious. Frankly, it wasn't even Jared. I did this to myself. Yet, it was like he was internally cursing his heritage, the beast inside that once unleashed, could do tremendous amounts of damage.

I forced myself to hold my questions. When the nosy part asked why, I simply thought, _It's not my place_. "Later," I said in agreement. And I watched him go, thinking about how I used to hate his guts. But now that I knew his secret, I wasn't so sure.

It was a few moments later that the door opened again. I was struggling to lay back down, my chest burning and aching with every move that I made. Tiny hisses left my mouth with every lurch of pain. But I turned into a statue when Paul made his entrance.

He looked like hell. If I had to guess, I'd say the poor guy hadn't gotten any sleep. His hair was a mess, stray ends going to and fro atop his scalp, and his eyes looked exhausted, like he had been tense and worried for hours on end.

I felt horrible. There was nothing I could say or do to make up for what I put him through by being unconscious and bed-ridden. There was always a voice in my head telling me to enact revenge against Paul and Jared for the shit they put me through, but here, when Paul looked like he'd finally seen the light for the first time by resting his eyes upon a living, breathing _me_ , I couldn't bring myself to be spiteful.

Spite was what got me here. It was what made me grow bitter and angry, and it was what made me lose all sense of logic and run purely on _hurt-'em-like-they-hurt-you_ mode.

I felt disappointed in myself, for letting myself do the things that I did. Like all the sense had been stripped from my body, and it was mere neurons ping-ponging their way through a vindictive existence.

I wasn't going to let myself be that way any longer.

"Hey," I said softly. It didn't sound like me. I wasn't soft. I also wasn't quiet. And Heaven forbid I be one-worded. But I was tired and in pain, and arguing didn't seem like a very good way to spend my time awake.

Paul's eyes brightened. I watched him head straight to the stool that Sue had once occupied, and he plopped down. "Hey." His voice was just as soft.

He wasn't soft. He wasn't quiet. And Heaven forbid he be one-worded.

What the hell had happened to us?

I surveyed his sitting figure. Now that he was close, I could see the bags underneath his eyes. "You look tired, Paul. Have you been sleeping?"

Paul cracked a smile. "Somewhat," he said. I took that as a way of him saying, _I haven't been sleeping at all but I don't want you to enact a fury's rage on me for telling you that._ His eyes flickered down to my shirt collar, where the gauze peaked out just a smidgen. "Are you in pain?"

"Somewhat," I said with a smile. The smile only grew when Paul's eyes narrowed, unamused by me mocking him. "A few painkillers would be _super_ right about now."

"Sorry to tell you, but… the one housing all the painkillers is downstairs entertaining guests. I could go and ask her for some, if you want me to?" Paul was already standing up, looking at me expectantly.

I grew frantic. I flapped my hand up and down, desperately trying to get the proper words out, but all I could come up with was, "No! Paul, no! Stay."

Paul's eyebrows raised. And then, the cocky bastard began to smirk. "Stay, huh?"

"I need to tell you something," I said. "It's _important._ " I sounded like a little schoolgirl. Eager to tell her crush something he didn't care about at all.

"Alright. I'm listening." Paul resumed sitting, but his posture was tense. His gaze was hard to read, but I caught a bit of uneasiness in those damned pools of chocolate.

"My dad. You know what he is, right?"

Paul's face grew angry. He began to shake, so I quickly placed a hand on his arm, warning him to stay calm. We didn't need him to shift in the middle of Sue Clearwater's house. His eyes strayed from my face to where my hand rested on his arm, and he slowly stilled. "Yes," he said simply.

"Well, I got the gene. Apparently. I don't really understand it, but—"

"You don't understand it?" Paul's eyes darkened, and his expression became deadly. "I'll enlighten you. Because you've got that fucking gene, bloodsuckers are gonna be after you. Just like they've been after your Dad for the past twenty fucking years."

The way he sounded, the way he looked, I knew he was holding this against my father, for being the one who gave me this specific genetic code, one that threw me into danger. He had probably gotten into arguments with him over it. That sounded like Paul.

 _Bloodsuckers are gonna be after you._ To make more Dakotas.

"I'm scared, Paul," I whispered. My exterior cracked, and I couldn't bring myself to regain composure. He'd seen me scared before—it was nothing new for him. He was always good for comforting me. All it took was a single touch, and the fear washed itself away. I'd melt like putty inside his hands. "I don't understand _any_ of this."

"I won't let anything hurt you, Alissa. I'll die before anything happens to you," Paul told me. He sounded serious.

I shook my head. That only made the feelings worse; it renewed my fear. I had never feared for myself. It was all for him, for Paul, who would _constantly_ be in the firing range so long as vampires existed. And I hated the feeling that accompanied that thought—distress. "I don't _want_ you to lay down your life for me, Paul! I honestly think I would fall apart completely if something happened to you."

His eyes steeled. "Alissa, nothing's going to happen to me. I promise."

"What if something does?" I thought of Dream-Paul. _I love you._ Was Real-Paul's fierce protection of me spurred by that same sentiment?

Our conversation after detention. Out in the parking lot. _Did you think that kiss meant nothing? That I felt nothing for you?_ Obviously _I fucking did._

I needed to know.

"I was _made_ for this, Alissa," Paul said, his hand reaching up to grasp hold of mine. Tingles erupted across my palm at the feeling of us touching. " _Nothing's_ going to happen to me. Okay?"

"Paul," I said tentatively. I flickered my gaze all over him, unable to think clearly. I was ready. Ready to take a cliff-dive. Eager to take the fall. Even if there was no one there to catch me at the bottom.

Our eyes met and locked. "What?"

I didn't answer.

As we continued to hold hands, lost in one another's eyes, my free hand came up and grabbed Paul by the hair. And I pulled him forward.

And for the second time, Paul and I kissed.

But this time felt different.

It felt like love.

* * *

 _A/N: They finally kissed, woo. I hope you guys aren't TOO disappointed by this chapter—if you are, just tell me, I won't take offense—and if you feel like Alissa is becoming annoying or too Mary-Sue-ish, let me know pls. I take all of your comments into consideration!_

 _ALSO LET ME KNOW IF THIS STORY IS BECOMING SHITTY (OR HAS ALWAYS BEEN SHITTY) BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO CONTINUE WRITING IT IF IT'S BAD LMAO_

 _As always, thanks for favoriting, following, and reviewing. Have a fantastic Fourth of July! Woohooooo_


	12. Chapter XII

| THE HUMAN CONDITION |  
CHAPTER XII: A NEW BEGINNING

prt. ii / the rise and fall of dakota

 **"** Full circle. A new terror born in  
death, a new superstition entering the  
unassailable fortress of forever.  
I am legend. **"**

 _I Am Legend, Richard Matheson_

* * *

 _A week later…_

* * *

 **THE INTEGRATION** into Sam Uley's wolf cult was a process I had been waiting for and anticipating but was also one that never physically came. Being made an honorary member of his super-secret circle? Losing my current reality and experiencing everything anew? All an _un_ reality. For fuck's sake, the topic was never even brought up. Would have made a great dinner conversation, but alas—I was left hanging.

I was some sort of emissary, part of a generational curse, tied to my ancestors in one of the most privacy-evading ways possible, yet my sudden powers were of no apparent use. Sam never came to talk to me. I wasn't brought to discuss boundaries with the Quileute council. Jared had disappeared completely. My own father avoided talking to me (about this new development, anyway; he was great for meaningless small talk) like the plague. No, nada, zilch, _nothing._ I was left to rot in my room, bedridden.

Kallie hadn't even called. No one from school bothered leaving messages. The only person who came by was my _Dad,_ who lived under the same roof, who ignored my questions but gave me company—as though I needed it. And I did need it, if I was honest. There wasn't anyone else I could turn to. Taha Aki, who was my _guiding hand_ in this whole shithole of a bloodsucker-wolfman situation, hadn't appeared since that night. If I was meant to be important, why did I feel so insignificant? All my questions were going unanswered. All the lies felt like hidden truths.

A voice, the equivalent of Paul's, appeared in my head. _Sounds like your life is falling apart, Ally._

Paul was right for once. My life did feel like it was falling apart. Hell, maybe it already had, and I was left dizzy in the unraveled bits.

I was told (by Sue, of course; who needed to visit a hospital when a family friend was a fucking nurse?) that my chest would never heal. There would always be scarring, and ugly, horrendous scabbing—and dammit, wouldn't it have been useful if my inherited Gift had included healing powers? But I couldn't bring myself to fucking care. I was left empty of guilt, anger, and grief. All I could _really_ feel was numbness. And was numbness even a feeling to begin with? In theory, all it meant was emptiness. A state of capacity. And fuck if I wasn't lacking in everything but bumps and bruises.

 _You're rambling. Shut the fuck up._ I _was_ rambling. Grasping for thoughts to think, reasons to be. And all the while, my heart was screaming for me to leave and find the answers myself, which really meant seeking out Paul. Who had stopped coming by the moment I'd been transferred from Sue's guest room to my own home. Why had he stopped coming by? Maybe because of Jared. Maybe because of Dad. Maybe because the kiss had meant jack-shit, and he wanted nothing to do with me as a result.

If Paul were here…

 _Look at you. A smitten, lovesick puppy. How is Paul the dog when here you are, your only goal in life to see his stupid face?_ I was embarrassing.

Empty of capacity, my ass. The truth was this: I _did_ care. My mind was full of racing thoughts and incomprehensible feelings. I couldn't distinguish between my anger and my guilt, so I decided I felt neither instead. And I was being a nuisance, both to my own health and the sake of everyone around me.

Especially my father, a quiet, brooding son of a bitch, who was presently sitting by my bedside. Man, did he look annoyed.

I knew what this meant; he was half a second from up-and-leaving, so I needed to interrogate him. While I still had a chance.

"Dad, am I annoying you?" I asked him. My train of thought had finally made full circle, and I concluded that my father was the one I needed to pester. For answers to Sam, Jared, and Paul, who were all assholes that kept avoiding me, even _after_ I knew their secrets. How had I gone from never being left alone to _always_ being alone? It was a strange, cruel world we lived in. "And be honest. It's for science."

Dad, who had been reading a Stephen King novel and pretending he was in an isolated bubble, blinked up from his lap. "You should be resting."

"You're gonna play _that_ game?" I harrumphed. I would have crossed my arms, but the gauze was itchy and I hated discomfort. "Okay, I get it. I'm annoying. Thanks for the input. Do I even need input? Nah, your face speaks enough for itself."

Dad drew his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, opened his mouth, then… shut it and continued reading.

I groaned. "You're such a dick."

"What have I told you about language?" He pinpointed me with his uber-scary, death-incarnate gaze, and damn. I was shaking in my rainbow socks.

Both hands went up defensively. "S-Sorry, sir. I-It won't happen again." I was obviously fucking around. But in a room with two occupants—one a stand-up comedian and the other an actual fucking rock—there was no laughter, only awkward silence. And it felt like I was actually suffocating, with that deadpan look on his face and my ever-constant headache returning for a vengeance. Ouch, did my temples _throb_. What did Dad do? Continue staring, like a fucking prison guard. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was a robot.

Dad's forehead cinched, brows disappearing up into his hairline. But he switched his focus back to the book in front of him. With that change of attention, though, meant he was ignoring me. _Purposely_ ignoring me.

Hm. Theory proven correct. He _did_ find me annoying.

"Ugh, you're so fu—I mean. You suck." I blinked at him. "No one wants to tell me what's going on. I thought Sam was supposed to explain all this shit to me?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Dad's gaze swept upward. His Stephen King novel— _Pet Sematary,_ I realized—snapped shut. "He's busy," Dad said.

"With what? Being a dick?" I narrowed my eyes. This conversation, stemmed by my theory that Dad (and the rest of the world, really) found me annoying, had taken a swift turn. "You all are keeping me in the dark, and it's really fucking pissing me off."

"It's for your own benefit," said Dad. His gaze was hard. And the frustration churning in my stomach was something that had been there since I'd been moved here, when everyone had decided to ignore and snub me. Everyone was tiptoeing around the full truth, and I'd only gotten strands of it. It was more than frustration now—it was resentment.

 _Because you've got that fucking gene, bloodsuckers are gonna be after you,_ Paul had said. He was never one for beating around the bush, and I knew the words he'd said weren't lies. _Just like they've been after your Dad for the past twenty fucking years._

Ignoring the wary look in my Dad's eye and pretending like he hadn't just basically told me to _let it go_ , I said, "Dakota." And I got the reaction I wanted. Just by hearing that name, Dad stiffened, back snapping straight and eyes enlarging. "First of our kind to be turned. A consultant to the Volturi. And he's been after you for two decades. Sound familiar?"

"You're delving into something dangerous, Alissa," he told me. His tone was dark and low.

A derisive laugh burst out of me, and I waved a dismissive hand. " _'You're delving into something dangerous, Alissa,'"_ I mocked. His words didn't console me, they only enraged me further, and fuck, if I didn't want to hit him. He was my father, but I wanted to _hit him._ He was keeping me in the dark, and I was tired of this game of Odd Man Out. "Bull-fucking-shit! I was already here to begin with. I mean, Jesus—you're my Dad, and you're an emissary. Jared's my brother, and he's a freakin' _shapeshifter_. Paul's my—well, he's my I-don't-know, and he's also a part of this wolfman cult! What did you expect? For me to just pretend I'm fully human and go on with life as normal? I can't. Not now. Not after—" My voice broke, and I glanced down at my chest.

Dad stood up from his chair, his book dropping to the ground. His expression was cinched tight, eyes darker than I had _ever_ seen them, and I shrunk back. Scared of what words he had to throw at me—my awkward, quiet father, turned into a living, breathing, _seething_ disciplinarian. "You think Jared's to blame for that?" he snapped at me, pointing downward.

I opened and closed my mouth. All I could force out was a meek, "No."

His mouth stretched into a tight smile, one that didn't match his eyes. "Good, because Jared didn't cause it. _You_ did. Just an hour of knowing what you are, and you twisted it to fit your own sick benefit, hurting your brother," Dad said, the words like spit; he was enunciating each one, and if there was a motive, it was definitely to puncture me. "He's sick with guilt, Alissa. I haven't seen him since your incident. After you fell unconscious, he let out a howl—then he ran into the woods. _I have not seen him since_."

"Dad, I-I know it wasn't him," I said. I knew I just needed to shut up, knew everything I thought and said was stupid, or at the very least unnecessary, but… I talked anyway. "I know it was me. I'm sorry… I was just so _angry._ "

"You're young, inexperienced, and foolish, Alissa," my father said. "You're rash and just don't _think._ You're stubborn and selfish, and Christ, you're not wired to hurt or kill anyone. This life was not made for you. It's only going to get you killed."

"Dad, I—" My eyes watered. Everything he said was true, but the way he said it—he thought very little of me. He was disappointed in me. He had probably warded Sam, Paul, and the rest from telling me anything for this exact reason. _He didn't want me to be a part of it._ "But—Paul—"

"For his own good and yours, stay away from him, Alissa." He turned around, heading for the door. When he glanced back at me, at my crying, pathetic form, he almost seemed sorry. But the anger and frustration overrode any sort of guilt he may have felt. "Get some rest. You'll be going back to school Monday."

The door slammed shut behind him as he left. His book stayed on the floor, abandoned.

 _He's right,_ I thought upon his departure. My cheeks were soaked in tears, my jaw so tense I could hear my teeth grinding together, and my chest ached. I wanted to be angry with him for telling me the truth, and for warding me away from some of the only people I had left, but he was right for doing it. I'd get myself hurt, or others. But did this mean I had to go about the exact way I had before Paul's shift?

Paul and I were connected, in a way I couldn't explain. What we had, what I felt for him, it was something worth fighting for. It was something I had dreamed of since our first kiss, and something I had dreaded being nothing but a farce since our second. Maybe loving him was a bad idea—a terrible one, even—and maybe I'd only get hurt in the process. But…

There was nothing I wouldn't do to keep Paul in my life, especially after learning _why_ he hadn't come by. My father could strip me of using my Gift, strip me of being an honorary member of Sam Uley's wolfman cult, strip me of reconciliation with Jared—but Paul?

He'd have to lock me in a room without doors or windows first.

* * *

It was Saturday night. And aside from the obvious, it was also a time when I knew Dad would be at the archives and no one would be over to babysit me. It was my first (and only) chance to see and talk with Paul before school. I didn't know if he was home, or even if he was willing to break my father's code of trust. But fuck it, right? You never knew until you tried.

Outside his house, I didn't know which room was his. The only times I'd been here were times with Jared in tow, and we usually sat in the living room and played games, or just talked. I was never allowed up in his room (Jared's rule, of course). Being here, I felt stupid. I had no possible way to see him without waking his father.

An idea popped into my head. _Let's just look around,_ I thought. Then I shoved my freezing hands into my parka's pockets. Beanie stooped low onto my head and a scarf pulled taut around my throat and mouth, I felt more than ready to investigate. The snow fell light around me as I ventured to the back of the house.

 _He has superhuman hearing, right? Maybe if I just…_ "Paul!" I whisper-shouted. A prayer went up to God from yours truly that Paul's father wasn't in the windowed room by my head. But when I looked up—

No one was at the window. However, the window itself wasn't completely dark. The lights in the room were dimmed, sure, but they were bright enough that I could tell it was occupied. The fast-paced, howling wind was loud as fuck and made it difficult to hear if anything was playing or being said. I strained my ears.

 _"_ _All I really want to know,  
I already know.  
All I really want to say,  
I can't define."_

"Sublime?" I muttered to myself before I frowned. Paul never really talked about his music taste—except that one time he mentioned being a Blink fan—but knowing he liked rock and alternative music made me wonder if I was standing under his room. And if that were the case, I really hated that he hadn't yet realized I was out here.

 _Are I not the love of thy life?_ I wanted to snicker so fucking bad, but I restrained myself. Being a nuisance wasn't on the agenda tonight.

Or maybe it was.

Taking a chance, I picked up a rock out of the snow. I shuffled backward a few steps, avoiding the tree just a few feet behind me, then tossed the rock at the window. My throw was with as much effort as I could muster, but it was still pretty weak. If this wasn't Paul's room, I could just hide and hope his father didn't notice… and pretend this never happened to avoid further embarrassment.

My luck was just right (yet also wrong) because before I knew it, Paul was standing at the window and pulling it up. He leaned his head out, with a torso absolutely fucking _bare,_ and almost immediately he locked his gaze on me. His face was unreadable from this distance, but who cared? All I could focus on was his chest. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

I blushed, thankful for the scarf that hid me. Then I realized I had to drag it down, in order to talk to him. _Fuck._ "Dad talked to me," I said, after I'd thrown out my pride. My flushed face was fully on display. "I'm gonna hazard a guess and say you haven't been around because of whatever he told you."

Paul crossed his arms and leaned on the window frame. "You'd be correct."

That wasn't the answer I wanted. Maybe the one I'd expected, but not the one I wanted. _At least he didn't say it was because you're a terrible kisser._ Fuck, that was true.

"You actually want to listen to him?" I puckered out my lips. "I thought you were a bad boy. Since when did you let anyone tell you what to do?"

Paul breathed out a sigh, something I only noticed because of its instant crystallization. "Well, you see, Alissa—I do listen to someone. It's not your Dad, though."

I threw up my hands. "Is it President Bush?" I asked. The question, as stupid as it was funny, was more for humor value than anything else. If this conversation were anything like what you'd get in a 90s rom-com, I knew what his answer would be.

He laughed. "Nah, but good guess," he said. There was a huge grin on his face. "It's you."

Jesus, what a cliché. "If you exclusively listen to me, then why haven't you been by?" I realized how stupid I sounded after the words left my mouth. If Dad truly was trying to keep us apart, he never would have let Paul in the house—and him being around constantly or keeping me under surveillance by babysitters didn't give Paul many chances. Had he been waiting for me to make the first move? "Wait—was this what you wanted all along? Me to come confront you?"

That same lopsided grin appeared on his mouth, stretching from ear to ear. "Guilty as charged."

"Well, I'm here," I said. "Are you gonna come out so we can talk or what?"

There was a brief pause, in which Paul just stared at me. Then he said, "We're talking right here, aren't we?"

"Well yeah, but…" I rolled my eyes. "I have to crane my neck to look at you. That shit hurts."

Paul laughed. "You do that anyway, Lis."

 _Damn you,_ I thought, lip curling _._ "Look, just come out here, alright?"

"Okay, mother," he said, making a face at me. When I said nothing in return, only giving him a look that _dared_ for him to stay and mock me, he stuck his head back inside.

As the tiny window closed and the music turned abruptly off, I became jittery with nerves. I was fucking anxious. What was I going to say? What was Paul going to say in return? Would I be grounded and handcuffed to my bed when I went home? Was this all a mistake? Why the fuck was I here in the first place?

 _You wanted to get answers,_ I told myself, pointing out the obvious. And it wasn't a lie; I _did_ want answers. I left because I knew if there was anyone that would be willing to lead me out of the dark, it'd be Paul. We were only now rekindling a relationship that burnt out because of Jared's interference, and with Dad's own attempts to sabotage, it made it so much harder to dig ourselves out. Yet here I was, eager to keep our connection alive.

About two minutes after Paul had disappeared back into his room, I heard snow crunching. I whipped around, heartbeat suddenly erratic, and felt an involuntary smile tweak my lips when I caught the sight of just who it was that had crept up on me.

"Shirtless? _And_ shoeless? Jeez, you're an idiot," I said, eying him up and down. "No shoes, no shirt, no service."

Paul smirked at me, throwing a glance at the very body parts I'd noticed the bareness of. At least he had the decency to wear shorts; I couldn't see a future in which I wouldn't squeal and blush if he showed up naked in front of me. He was warmer than the average human, so I doubted he'd even notice the crisp temperature if he _was_ completely naked. But I still appreciated the coverage, no matter how slight.

"I'm sure you could make some arrangements," said Paul, his manner suggestive. "You wanted to talk. Never said anything about the attire."

He had me there. "Okay, yeah, you're right," I said. I walked closer to him, pulling my scarf up to my chin. It was cold as _fuck_ outside and I wanted nothing more than to be a part of his warmth. "So, I guess you know I'm not allowed to use my powers. Or know anything else about your little wolf-y cult."

Paul nodded. "I agree you shouldn't be a part of the fighting and killing," he told me seriously. When he caught a glimpse of my gaze, saw I was half a moment from objecting and starting an argument, he added, "You aren't a shapeshifter, Alissa. Your Dad isn't either. You weren't _made_ to do any of the shit we do."

"I was never given the opportunity to know more about myself," I said. _You're sounding like a petulant child._ "If I have powers, I can _use_ them to do what you guys do. Right? If Dad can do it, I can too. I can learn."

His (very pointed) gaze fell on the center of my chest, where my large black parka covered what lay underneath. The ugly, obvious scars I'd avoided looking at since the very incident that gave me them. "Your Dad'll come around and show you how to use your powers," said Paul. "I can't say I agree with that. You were already hurt once from this bullshit, and with bloodsuckers here even _after_ the Cullens left, I don't trust you being a part of it. It'd kill me to see you hurt again, and that's what's going to happen if you put yourself where you don't belong."

"Paul, pain's part of the cycle of life," I said, rolling my eyes at him. "So is learning. So is experience. What's the point in living if I'm just going to be sheltered?"

"Just…" Paul blew out a frustrated breath. "Your Dad's afraid that if you use your powers and become anything like him, Dakota will come to claim you for himself. _Make_ you into one of him."

"What if he already knows that I was given the gene? They're after my father. I'm going to assume they know he had children. I doubt they're stupid enough to think the Gift skipped a generation. What if they know, Paul? Then I've been in danger since the day I was born." I felt like a child trying to play an adult game. Is that how my father saw me? Is that how they _all_ saw me?

Paul's lips thinned, until it looked like he was mouthless. His jaw was twitching. "Dakota is dangerous, Alissa," he said. "He's been after your Dad since he first got the gene. He _killed_ your grandfather because he refused to be turned. If he catches word that you'll be anything like them, any bit as _powerful_ as them, they'll want you."

"Snubbing me out and forcing me to go on with life as usual isn't the solution," I told him. I wanted him to understand—there was nothing we could do to make me perfectly human. Nothing we could do to make me perfectly safe. "I'll always have this gene. We can't get rid of it. It's going to always be there. So I _have_ to be a part of this."

Paul looked utterly frustrated, like he was about to shout curses and punch things and _shift_ , all because he didn't like what he was hearing. "Alissa," he said, after a moment of standing and staring, of combing fidgety fingers through his hair. His voice was hoarse. "You could die. You know that? Dakota's not someone to fuck around with. He's not human. If you don't know what you're doing, you could get yourself killed, okay? You could fucking die."

"Okay," I said softly. "Okay, I know. But I'll learn. He won't kill me. But he will if you keep me in the dark." Taha Aki's ominous, cryptic words rang through my head, and I knew this was the right decision. If I left words unsaid and let my human world cloud the darker, supernatural side, my fate would only end in blood.

Paul walked over to me, and he pulled me into an embrace. His body was warm, and hard, and felt like a fucking safety net, and I would be lying if I said I didn't fall untense from just a few seconds in his arms. His impulsive hug struck me as foreign, since he'd never been the affectionate type, but I knew things were different now. _We_ were different.

It felt like he was trying to convince himself I was real, that what I said was the truth and being brought into his world would keep me safe and protected. I knew he was worried. He was scared that I was talking out of my ass and I'd never be able to handle his world. He was right to worry—right to think I could fail and end up dead either way. But did I want him proven right?

I pushed myself out of the hug, leaned up on my toes, and met Paul halfway in a kiss.

I pulled away after a few seconds. The kiss was a mere peck, but it felt amazing—not quite like fireworks exploding, but somewhere close. More like a toe-curling ecstasy, a high I could never get enough of. At Paul's dazed, confused stare, I only smiled.

"Wanna start a super-secret cult of our own?" I asked him.

His brows flew upward. "What?"

There was something in his eyes, this fond look I couldn't quite decipher, and I knew that even if shit did hit the fan, I'd at least have him to brace the fray with. It made my next words feel all the more _right._ I snaked my arms around his neck, bringing him closer to my level, _damning_ him for being so freaking _tall_ —and said in his ear, "Let's be lovers."

He jerked back. When he next looked at me, it was with incredulity. "What?" he repeated.

"For an all-mighty wolfman, you sure are _slow_ ," I said, with a laugh. "Let's date! Damn my father. Damn Dakota. Damn everybody. No one has to know—or _everyone_ can know—I don't care. I just know I want you."

I was putting my heart on the line here, exposing it for him and him alone to see, and I hoped he wouldn't pull a fast one and leave. Men were such wusses when it came to feelings, and damn if Paul wasn't the epitome of _fuck-feelings-let's-just-punch-shit_ male. I didn't—

Paul swooped me up in his arms, twirling me, before sitting me down and smashing his lips back against mine. And _fuck_ , I'd never experienced anything like it. Like him. His eyes fluttered shut, and mine quickly followed. His hands slithered from my waist to my face, cupping my jaw, and my own arms remained around his neck. I was risen up on my tiptoes, my body curving perfectly against his, and all I could taste was him, all I could feel was him, all I could breathe was him. He tasted like mint, he felt like a wall, and his scent was like that of musk.

And the kiss itself was out-of-this-world. Words couldn't express just how weird and lovely and exciting, all at once, it felt.

Paul's lips unattached from mine. The movement was slow, like he hadn't wanted to leave at all. When I opened my eyes, with great reluctance, it was to meet his. The fond look had disappeared, and in its place was something deeper. Darker. And the way he continued to hold my face was something that made me want more.

There was a big smirk on Paul's face, his eyes brighter than stars. "Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, Alissa Cameron?" he asked teasingly.

"Why yes, Paul Lahote. Do you accept?" I smiled.

He gave me a look, like that kiss should have spoken for itself. I just laughed and leaned up for another one.

 _Three, four, five. That's five. Five kisses. And he initiated one himself._ At least they proved that whatever this was, even if temporary, it was _real._ And it was tangible. I could touch it, feel it, taste it.

It wasn't just a figment of my imagination. And for once, I didn't feel like the direction I was heading was a bad one.

* * *

Paul had walked me home. Said something about wanting me to be safe, scolded me for having come to his house alone and through the woods, and helped jump me to my bedroom. It was one hell of an experience, I'd say that much, especially when he nearly missed the window pane. Good thing I left my window unlocked.

We'd exchanged goodbyes, where he'd given me my sixth kiss, and I'd gotten ready for bed. I changed out my gauze with a new set, I brushed out my hair and pulled it up, I washed my face and took sweet time brushing my teeth. When I'd put on an old shirt and shorts and finally laid down in bed, I felt content.

Around 3 in the morning, I woke to a strange creaking.

 _What the fuck?_ I thought and rose up in my bed. The covers fell down from my chest. I looked around. There was nothing here, there, _anywhere_ —and the door was shut tight. The television was turned off. The window was closed. The creaking couldn't be from within my room—

I heard it again. And it was close. It _had_ to be from within this room.

I didn't dare call out or move. That's what the idiot girls in horror movies did, right? Yeah, right before they got themselves killed. I didn't want the same fate.

 _Even though you're in the same room with it,_ said an eerie voice in my head, the very one that always liked to spook and fuck around with me. _You're fucked either way._

"Who's there?" I said shakily, deciding the voice was right. I _was_ fucked either way.

Nothing moved, nothing said anything. I was basically caught in suspense, as per usual in horror movies. But then, a shadow moved from the wall—one in the shape of a man—and before I could scream, there was something clasping around my lower skull. Something holding my jaw captive. And unlike Paul's gentle caress, this one aimed to hurt.

 _Fuck!_ I shouted in my head, tears stinging my eyes. And though I moved my jaw, I couldn't find an out—the hand was much too strong. I was desperate to bite their hand and remove myself from this situation. But how could I? I was weak, foolish, and _definitely_ not Final Girl material. Maybe the Final Girl's companion, but I'd still die in the end.

"Ah, ah, ah," the shadow above me said, in a voice a touch too patronizing for my liking. His voice was deep and baritone. "You're not getting away that easily, Alissa. Not when we have much to discuss."

I blinked away the tears and stared up at him. I couldn't speak, so all I did was stare.

He laughed. "You think I'm another of your guardians testing you? Sorry, sweetheart. If I was, you wouldn't be able to feel me. I wouldn't be able to taste your fear."

 _What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck!_

His grasp increased around my jaw, so tight I felt like it might break. He leaned closer, and what most alarmed me was the lack of scent. _Like he was an actual shadow._ "You will make for a powerful addition to us," he purred.

My eyes widened. And my struggle increased, so terrified I felt like I couldn't breathe. _Is this who I think it is?_

His hand reached up "You'll realize in due time that fighting is pointless. We will _always_ find you."

A shard of moonlight came streaking through the window, and suddenly, I saw him. I saw the man—no, _vampire—_ pinning me to my own bed.

"Hello Alissa," Dakota said. He had eyes red as a viper's and lips as pale as liquid nitrogen. His hair was the very color of the night sky. And his skin was tan like mine, yet ashen to a deathly degree. The way he stood over me, he wasn't new to hunting. He was a professional. And here, alone in his grip, closed in by four walls, I was what he had his sights on. I was his prey.

 _This isn't real,_ I told myself. It couldn't be. If it was, my father would have run in here by now. Sam and Paul and Jared would have scented him. Right? They knew I was defenseless. And they knew what vampires smelled like. _I hope._

The pressure on my jaw was excruciating, and all I could wonder was why the hell so many bad things were happening to _me_ of all people. "We'll talk later," said Dakota, with a smile that sent chills down my spine. _He said we had much to discuss. Why leaving so soon?_ "I'm sure you'll feel a little more accommodating then."

My jaw was released, and the shadow above me disappeared. Not before a sharp sensation cut through my defenses and a bright white enveloped everything.

I shot up in my bed. My entire body ached like a fucking train had hit me and sweat covered me from head to toe.

After moments spent blinking around, of trying to calm my heart, of panicking and hoping I was alone for good this time, I realized something. Something terrible.

 _That_ was _Dakota… this wasn't a nightmare…_ I chewed on my lip. And I felt ridiculous, felt so fucking stupid… and knew this game was one that I wouldn't win. Not when I was up against the game-maker.

 _That's why he's so dangerous. That's why they're so afraid of him._

Dakota could visit and manipulate dreams.

* * *

 _A/N: Long time no fucking see, guys. Bet you thought I'd gone off the grid. Can't say I didn't. Shit's been fucking me up lately. During July I had work, and at work I was constantly being harassed and antagonized by this one chick who's hated me since grade school. I was really depressed, from that and all the shit I had to deal with from my parents. August was the same way. Going back to college made things a little better. I go to the same college as the girl who loves to harass me, but good thing is the campus is big and I hardly see her! When I do, she gives me death glares. Oh fucking well lmao._

 _College has been great to me and I feel much better. I'm eating better, I'm able to socialize, my grades are good—the only thing sucking major ass is my sleep schedule. I never sleep. But at least there's coffee, right?_

 _I haven't been very motivated to write for this story. I feel like it's terrible and lacks direction. I absolutely abhor it, and the only thing that wills me to finish it is the people who actually_ do _enjoy it, as far and in between as they are. My writing is shit and every time I write on this story, I get angry and want to delete it because it sucks. If this chapter is garbage, that's why. Also because it's a bit of a filler. Fillers are never very satisfying, are they? As an avid reader, I apologize for giving you this boring piece of shit. Sure, yeah, Dakota shows up in it, but let's be real—that was completely unoriginal. Dakota is basically Freddy Kreuger. BUT I promise, it will get better._

 _Maybe not. I almost deleted this piece of shit over the course of the last three or so months I've spent not updating. I will probably wind up doing so anyway. THIS STORY SUCKS TIS TRUE, AT LEAST I'M NOT A BITCH ASS LIAR AND WILL AGREE WITH U_

 _Let me stop being self-degrading for one moment to say please, please, please—REVIEW! I read each and every single one of them. Give your honest opinion. Tell me what you'd like to see plot-wise. I take all comments into consideration. Thank you._


	13. Chapter XIII

Chapter XIII: 1, 2, Dakota's coming for you…

"But […] I am an instance to prove the contrary:  
For I am damned, and am now in Hell."

 _Christopher Marlowe, Dr. Faustus_

* * *

[ Seven hours before ]

 **WHAT ALL THE** tragic heroines said about happy endings, how the only realities were the _never-happens_ and _ends-poorly,_ were proven accurate. I knew it, too. I knew I was kidding myself walking home all elated, thinking stupid thoughts. Who was I fooling? Sure, maybe in a perfect world Paul and I would work out. We'd have picnic dates and laugh at other sappy, bubbled-up couples. We'd swing hands to see who tired out first and kiss behind closed doors. We'd be in love.

I was reminded of the images I held during our parking-lot domestic spat, of this so-called _perfect world._ One where I wasn't prey or breaking at the seams. Dakota wasn't real. He wasn't tangible.

Here, he was.

And he wouldn't get the fuck out of my head.

 _Guardians testing you? Sorry, sweetheart. Taste your fear._

 _We'll talk later._

 _I'm sure you'll feel a little more accommodating then._

Talk later. Where later?

Sweetheart, touch, fear… _touching me, hurting me, taunting me._

Dakota, the ever-mysterious monster behind my current fears. He was a predator without any sort of apparent weaknesses. He was marble-cold, marble- _hard,_ near-unbreakable. I couldn't see any outcome where I'd be the victorious one on the other end. Nothing good would come from our next meeting, I was sure.

Wait, wait, wait.

 _Where am I?_

I opened my eyes—previously clenched shut—and surveyed my surroundings. I was in school. I was slumped against my easel. I had paint matting my hair. It was all over my clothes. My head ached, as did my chest. And everyone, from Mr. Meadows in the doorway to Mrs. Johnson at the front, was staring at me. I was probably a ghastly sight.

When I'd returned to school, I hadn't bothered hiding my true state of mind. I let the fear, fatigue, and anger show. I came here pale like Casper and sleep-deprived like an Elm Street kid doped up on Hypnocil. I couldn't get Dakota out of my head. He was stuck there, a permanent part of my memories now.

 _Don't forget about his visit,_ I reminded myself. He _was_ a memory. An unwanted memory, but that didn't make him any less real. _Don't put your guard down._

"Come on, Alissa," said Mr. Meadows from his place at the doorway. I had no other choice but to get up and follow him, like a pig to the slaughter.

I was mute, a shell of a human-being, as Mr. Meadows urged me to his office. Everyone from Kallie to Jeremiah stared at me while I left, sick and fatigued, the very image of a "Don't do drugs, kids!" poster.

Mr. Meadows's office was familiar. I'd been here dozens of times, sometimes because I'd lashed out and other times because my teachers thought I was depressed. Hardly ever did I avoid spitting out the truth, so the strict, dark-haired man knew more about me than most—including Kallie. He knew all about my Jared drama and I'd even mentioned Paul and I's dynamic a couple of times. I was like a skeleton to him now. He knew everything.

In that monster's voice, my mind hissed, _Not everything._

When Mr. Meadows sat me down, situating himself on the opposite side of his desk, I couldn't help but fidget. I felt on trial, with the Big Man staring down at me. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be home, bedridden, alone and watching flimsily-thrown-together horror movies. My father made me come to school. He was still angry with me, thinking I was the reason behind Jared's disappearance. Maybe I was, maybe I wasn't.

 _I definitely was._ Everyone was mad at me.

Judging by Mr. Meadows's glare, he was, too.

"You really do have a knack for disruptive behavior, Alissa," he told me, voice far from exuding warmth. He sounded annoyed. I barely remembered what had got me here in the first place.

I blinked at him. "Why am I here?"

"Do you not remember?" When I shook my head, he mirrored me, expression twisting into a scowl. "You fell asleep and knocked over three cans of paint. Why were you falling asleep in art class, Alissa?"

"Can you just give me my slip and let me go?"

Mr. Meadows's gaze softened. "Not until you tell me why you look so tired."

I didn't have to tell him anything. I wasn't obliged to this. He wasn't my fucking therapist, and he sure as hell wasn't my father. He had no right to pry into my personal life. Even if I was a public disturbance, my reasons behind looking tired and doing reckless things didn't require his assistance. He wasn't going to help me.

 _He can't know about Dakota anyway,_ I reasoned with myself. He couldn't know. I wasn't allowed to tell him the truth. He had no part in this world.

"It's nothing," I said.

"Doesn't look or sound like 'nothing,' if you're falling asleep sitting pin-straight." Mr. Meadows had a fatherly look to him, and I was reminded that he had children. He had a daughter my age, and two boys in middle school. He saw me like he saw his daughter. He could see straight through my act. Usually, I let myself succumb and revealed everything. But this time, I was holding onto a secret that wasn't my own. The repercussions of blurting out the truth weren't ones I wanted to experience firsthand.

"I was just tired. Does everything have to get you Sigmund Freud-ing the shit out of me?" I glared at him. "I'm not your patient."

He stared calmly back at me. "I never said you were."

" _Then stop treating me like one_."

"Alissa, you were never so adamant on being difficult," he said, eying me up and down. Just like a psychologist would his patient. "There's something wrong. I care about you, and I want to help you to the best of my ability."

"Stop caring then," I said, aching with guilt—especially when his eyes flashed. There was hurt in there. I was being rude. And my face made it seem like I didn't feel guilty. _You are._ "The bell's about to ring and I didn't bring my shit. Can I go now?"

His eyes were calculating and careful. He stared at me, like he was my father. I wished my own father was like this. I wanted him to look at me the same way Mr. Meadows did.

Like he cared.

"I guess so." Mr. Meadows stood up, and I resumed a similar stance. I held out my hand expectantly. But Mr. Meadows just stared. He looked confused. I shook my hand multiple times, growing more frustrated the longer I continued, before he pushed my hand down. "No slip."

This was new. Unlike my customary response, where I'd said something crude and out-of-place, I didn't comment on it. I gave him a frown. And I quickly vacated his office.

 _No one cares,_ I thought.

Really though, everyone cared too much.

* * *

[Five hours before]

I picked at my lunch plate, viciously stabbing my roll. Kallie was beside me, slathering butter. I hadn't spoken to her the entire time she'd been here. She asked how my visit with Mr. Meadows had gone, but I gave no reply. I didn't feel like talking. The urge had drained from me during, and after, my "appointment" with Mr. Meadows. I wanted to go home and sleep. My jaw ached and itched, the memory of Dakota's touch staining it bloody.

Kallie knew something was wrong. She'd known it since I first walked into class. She hadn't tried contacting me when I was in bed and aching something terrible, so seeing me in person cemented her worries about _me_ never contacting _her._ I learned that she'd tried calling. I learned that my father never picked up in my place. She was so worried, floundering about and asking me how I was the moment I came in.

She followed me from my third period (waiting outside to accost me) to lunch, through the lunch-line and to our usual table, and she sat beside me, staring instead of eating. It became uncomfortable after the first ten minutes. Then it became annoying. Only now did she even bother to attempt ingesting something, after my eyes caught hers and I gave her a pointed glare.

 _She can't know._ She was my best friend, though. I hated keeping secrets from her. _It's not your secret to tell._

But I wanted to tell someone about Dakota. I wanted someone to know I wasn't okay, and I was fearing for my life the longer I went stuck in my own head.

"Alissa, please say something," pleaded Kallie. We were five minutes away from the end of our lunch period, and people were already trickling out of the cafeteria. She sounded desperate. She _looked_ desperate. She had her eyes trained on my own, flickering around like they were part of a pinball machine. "Please. You're scaring me."

I was scaring myself, I wanted to say. But instead I said, "It doesn't matter."

" _It does_! It does!" Kallie grabbed onto my arm, and she shook me. Instead of her eyes, it was my _body_ being pinballed, and the whiplash that came afterwards was… unpleasant. "Please, Alissa—I just want to help you."

I took a deep breath and tried not to look sick. I felt sick. I wanted to throw up. Dakota's face wouldn't leave my head, regardless of how many times I rearranged my thoughts. I couldn't tell if it was a side-effect of his powers. Could he _make_ me think about him? That sounded crazy, even by supernatural standards.

I swallowed down the scream that wanted to escape me, and I said, "I'm sorry. I just don't feel well. I didn't sleep good last night."

I didn't sleep at all after I woke from Dakota's visit, but no one needed to know that—not even Kallie. She'd worry to death and try getting me help. Help from someone who didn't know the first _thing_ about how to help me, like some psychiatrist. And I didn't need a fucking shrink on top of my worries.

"Have you tried taking melatonin?" Kallie asked.

"It's not—" I cut myself off. There wasn't a logical explanation besides insomnia, and I wasn't an insomniac. I was afraid. The shadows were playing tricks on my eyes, and every which way I looked, in every fucking corner of every goddamned room or landscape, I saw a predator. Even in the light I wasn't safe. I couldn't just outright _say that_ though. I'd sound crazy. _I was crazy._ "Melatonin doesn't work on me."

Kallie shook her head. "I don't think you've even tried it."

"Melatonin isn't the only sleeping pill out there," I said, rolling my eyes. Her own lit up, thinking I was back to my snarky self. Close, but not quite. "I'll get something for it. Dad'll help."

 _Sure he will. Right after the bastard tells me I got myself into this mess, and I'll get myself out of it._

I transferred my attention from Kallie, the girl saying something about pharmaceuticals I didn't quite catch, to the big clock in the center of the cafeteria. I stared at it, watching the second hand as it ticked, ticked, _ticked_. I stared until the clock read 11:45. That's when the most miraculous of miracles occurred. The overhead bell rang.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I told Kallie, getting up from the lunch-table. I was expecting to leave and pretend this conversation never happened. What I _wasn't_ expecting was to turn around and catch a nose right into Paul Lahote's delectably-hard chest.

 _Oh fuck,_ I thought immediately, rubbing my nose, staring up at him—knowing this wasn't going to end well.

I was proven right.

Paul scanned my face, my chest, my arms. His gaze flickered back up to my eyes, and I knew just by his expression—he was worried. "You look like shit," he said, in a subdued voice, agitation clear in his posture. He wanted to touch me, but he didn't know if I was comfortable with it. He didn't know how. I pointedly looked over his shoulder, at the nearest exit. _Follow me,_ I said with my eyes. I brushed past him.

He followed like a dog, not stopping until I did outside of the cafeteria, in the middle of a crowded hallway.

"Not very private, but oh-fucking-well," I muttered, turning to face him. He looked confused. That confusion grew when he noticed me wearing make-up—something I hardly did, unless for a formal occasion. I was much too lazy for it. He reached up and brushed a hand against my jawline.

I flinched. He noticed.

Paul's gaze hardened. "What? What's wrong?" he asked me.

I didn't want to tell him here, so I shook my head. "It's nothing," I said. I sounded like I was hiding something when I took that tone of voice—one that implied, _Just drop it._ I wasn't trying to sound innocent, not in the slightest. I looked guilty as hell, too.

"Yeah, _okay_ ," Paul said. He didn't try to hide his anger, nor did he try pretending like he believed a word I said. Neither of us were triers, just doers. Everything that came out was without effort, and it showed. "That's a crock of shit, and you know it."

"Believe what you will, Paul," I said in return, avoiding his gaze. I was susceptible to him, finding it difficult to lie directly to his face. I had to look around and lay attention elsewhere, lest I fall right into his trap—the very one that'd wind up getting me into even deeper shit. I refused to tell him anything, not here, not anywhere. I was terrified, but not enough that I'd go running to the nearest hulking, dominant male.

Besides, Dakota wanted to play games with me. Hurting others in his way to the prize was all a part of his fun. It wouldn't surprise me if my running mouth got him interested in sprinkling out some pain, all in the name of retaliation. And during his next visit, wherever and whenever, he wouldn't want to leave empty-handed. He wouldn't just come and go like the fucking rain.

 _We'll talk later._ He never said a time or place, or who was allowed to drop in.

"I believe you're lying to me," Paul said angrily, voice loud and rough. "I thought we were through with this bullshit, Alissa. Or was that just _me?_ You can tell me as little or as much as you fucking wish, but I can't do the same? How's that fair?"

It wasn't that. Not at all. I wanted him to know there was nothing he did to make me avoid him. And me tying my tongue was dumb. I was dumb. Everything about this situation was dumb.

It wasn't _him_.

It _wasn't_ _him_.

 _It wasn't him._

I felt caught, like a puppet without its strings. Like I was in eternal free fall. My mouth opened and closed wordlessly. And when I looked Paul in the eyes, when I saw the hurt swimming in them—that's when I broke.

My jaw fell open, mouth ready to spew out my deepest, darkest secrets. Only to notice—

 _Nothing came out._

Paul stared at me dubiously. "What?"

I shook my head. I tried saying my lips were sealed, but even that refused to leave. My brain was telling me, _You don't need to tell him anything._ I agreed. I didn't need to tell him anything.

"Nothing," I said.

I heard his teeth grinding together—fucking _heard_ them—and I could only watch when he took me by the arm and wrenched me forward. He was as gentle as Paul Lahote was capable of, but there was still a darkness to him, to his face and posture. He was looking at me angrily. He didn't want to hurt me, per se, but he definitely wanted to wring me until I came out pandering to his wants. My lying, my deceiving, my _deflecting_ —they weren't fun and games for him. They were frustratingly impossible to process, and even harder to read between.

"You need to stop lying, or we can't help you, goddammit," Paul growled. I'd never heard someone's voice so guttural before. It didn't scare me, but it definitely discomforted me. I stared at his throat, where a normal voice should have originated. But he sounded beastlike. Pure animal. Angrier than a bear. _Fed up_ with me.

" You couldn't help me anyway," I said. "You're not certified in psychology."

Paul looked around the emptying corridor. He dropped his voice an octave before saying, "I'm your fucking _boyfriend._ That sure certifies me for something."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, alright. For _what?_ To lock me in my ivory tower and feed me walnuts until I 'tell the truth'?" When his face continued to reflect a lack of amusement, I took an alternate route. "It's _nothing,_ Paul. I'm not avoiding you, or whatever. That's part of a rom-com script, and my life is sure as _fuck_ not a rom-com."

"You look like shit," he said bluntly.

"I always look like shit. I'm just a special case of it today," I said, scowling at him. Wasn't he supposed to shower me in compliments? Where were the lies about me looking pretty when I was nothing but? He was doing this whole 'boyfriend' thing _wrong_. And the angry, _don't-make-me-hurt-you_ glares were _not_ romantic in the slightest. I shouldn't have cared anyway. I was being hypocritical. Tongue-tied, deflective Alissa Cameron. "Fine, Paul. Maybe I'm just anxious for when Jared decides to grace us with his presence again."

Paul snorted. "That's bullshit."

"It's true!" I actually hadn't thought about Jared until now. But when he did appear in my thoughts, it was anxiety that crept up on me. _He'll want to talk, won't he?_ Jared was a confront-first-regret-later kind of guy, so he'd definitely want to talk it all out when he got back from wherever the hell he was. I was anticipating his visit, like I was Dakota's. I didn't _fear_ it, though. And I was sure Paul felt my fear, knowing its cause as something other than Jared's impending return. "Okay, look. I'm hiding things, but you hid things from me too, so let's agree to disagree, yeah?"

Paul glared at me. "You know I can't—"

 _BRRRRR._

Overhead, the tardy bell rang. I immediately tugged my backpack straps downward, gripping them like a scared schoolgirl, avoiding Paul's eyes. I was so fucking stupid, to think he would let this go. And it made me just as naïve in assuming he wouldn't find out the truth. "It's _nothing_ , Paul. Jesus fucking Christ. I told you. Just—drop it."

He reached out for me. "Alissa—"

I ran away from him, as I found myself doing pretty regularly.

And when I got to fourth period, I asked myself why me and Paul were always fighting. I also wondered if we were broken-up now. I didn't understand relationships. I didn't understand anything. Everything was so fucked.

 _Do you ever stop arguing?_

We didn't. And I was starting to feel drained.

* * *

[Two hours before]

Humans have a knack to do the exact opposite of what they say they will.

I fell asleep. Just as I'd warned myself not to.

I spent all these hours fearing what lay in the beyond-realm of sleep, thinking my dreams would turn to nightmares, thinking Dakota would manifest due to my deepest, darkest fears. I was wrong to think it'd be my own head that did me in. I was wrong to think I could avoid one of my body's most vital functions.

I forgot that Dakota was the game-maker. This cluelessness showed when I jolted awake in a forest and thought I was sleepwalking. Regardless of concurrent memories, ones in school.

 _What the hell?_ I fruitlessly freaked out upon my arrival in the strange environment. Looking around, staring down the trees, searching for lifeforms. This forest didn't look familiar. It didn't even look like the forest I was in during previous dreams. Maybe it was part of the preserve I'd never been to, out in the Forks area. But that didn't make any sense. I was very confused. I was very terrified. I wanted to be home, in my bed, watching movies.

Not horror anymore, though. Maybe a rom-com. Anything that took my mind off what I was experiencing. Off the tension, off the fear. Off the unknowing.

There was no escape from this shit, as I was coming to slowly realize. So I stumbled up from my fallen position on the ground. If the danger wouldn't come to me, I'd find it myself. This was a dream, right? I couldn't be hurt. I'd be okay every which way, in every which alternate universe. When I touched my own arm, I didn't _feel_ it. Did that mean this was just a normal dream? Did that mean this wasn't a nightmare?

I was hoping so. Courtesy of my own idiocy, I was just a normal human. About as foolish as a blacked-out drunkard. And about as courageous as a background hero.

I didn't have shoes on, so it was a relief to feel nothing as I stepped on broken limbs and rocks. Maybe it was cutting into me, but I wouldn't know the difference. I was intent on finding the cause for me being here. I wanted to know why my brain wanted me here, of all places. Was this part of Dakota's game? Taha Aki's? _My own fucking head_?

The darkness seemed to intensify and thicken the more I ventured into the forest's mucky resolve. It creeped on me, followed me, a plague in the midst of a black hole. Black on black on black. The moon in the sky was surreal. It didn't feel real. Nothing about this place felt real.

How could it? I kept touching shrubs, trees, fallen limbs, poison ivy—searching for one of my five senses. I couldn't smell. I couldn't hear. I couldn't touch. Many of these senses were ones I could try initiating, ones that called for interaction _and_ a reaction, but they didn't manifest into something I could feel. I was able to see, but nothing looked or felt tangible. This couldn't be reality. It had to be unreality. I was daydreaming.

 _Where am I?_ I thought stupidly.

I was grabbed from behind. And then, I was spinning. Not like a ballerina. No, this feeling gave me whiplash. Sick, intoxicated, wriggling like a dying worm.

 _Feeling._ I was feeling.

"Welcome to _Hell_ , darling," a voice responded from beside me. Suddenly my world was burning.

I screamed.

And screamed.

And _screamed_.

I grabbed my arm, where something had seared my skin, where the horrible feeling originated. Thoughts came flying back to me, the ones about being safe. I remembered touching the ground and looking around, seeing the dream-world as an oyster. Everything felt whimsical and imaginary, from my own body to the landscape surrounding me. I didn't feel like I could be harmed. I didn't feel like I was being hunted.

The disembodied voice had a hand on me. A fucking hand. How could he touch me? How could I feel him when I couldn't even feel myself?

He was holding me. I was still screaming.

Teeth, razor-sharp and like pin-needles, grazed my neck. How did I know they were teeth? Were they fangs? Were they canines? Were they human? This wasn't real, it wasn't real, _it's not real_. "Is this to your satisfaction? I did promise we would talk soon."

His voice was silk. Soft, deadly, wrapping around me like a noose.

 _You promised nothing._ He was going to kill me and keep my insides as a trophy. But that was no promise, it was a threat. A threat he'd fulfill, if I continued to be a foolish, useless human. _You're not real._

This was all in my head.

"Am I? A figment?" He laughed. It was both a purr and a yowl, inhumane in an animalistic way. I knew that voice. I knew that laugh. "You're disillusioning yourself, darling."

He was disillusioning me. He was driving me insane. I hadn't known of his existence for very long, but in the time that I did, I'd lost a lot and gained nothing. I felt my sanity drain the longer I went thinking about him. And now he was here—wherever and whenever I was. His hand wasn't on my jaw, though.

His long, scalpel-like nails were digging into my shoulder. His mouth was on my ear. His body was cold and slight on my backside.

"You're not real," I whispered.

 _I'll show you real._

When his fangs sunk into my neck, that's when I did what I knew best.

I screamed.

* * *

[One hour and a half before]

Like a drowning child coming up to the surface, I gasped for air. And I clawed my way out of the darkness, succumbing to the light that met me at the end. The fog cleared. The white noise popped. Everything felt real again.

I pushed myself away from it all, only to find my body fumbling, falling. I cried out. I lashed out. I only narrowly avoided my head hitting a nearby desk. My voice came out as a scream, thinking myself in danger. But someone— _something?_ — caught me. That someone/something was unfamiliar. A someone—a concerned-looking boy my age.

I wasn't in a forest anymore.

But I _was_ under assault by a dozen pairs of eyes, all staring me down, all looking strangely horrified. I realized too late that my scream had been real, evidenced by the painful feeling in the back of my throat. When I reached up, I pressed down. _Ouch._ Just another injury to add to the expanding list. A hoarseness that would stick to me like glue for days.

"Ms. Cameron, are you quite alright?" asked Mr. Sommers. He was two feet away, his dark head of hair obscuring his eyes. I saw the spectacles, though, and they glinted under the fluorescent lighting. He had a hand hovering over Melissa Reyes's desk. He looked just as horrified as the rest.

I stepped out of my male helper's grasp, a frenzy of hands (I had two, but they were quick and frantic) going in multiple directions.

I touched my neck. Dakota bit me there.

I touched my shoulder. He burned his nail's imprints into my shoulder.

I touched my jaw. It still hurt from last night's visit.

"Alissa?" …

"Alisa? Alissa." …

"Alissa!"

" _Alissa._ "

I snapped out of it. "What?"

Mr. Sommers looked scared and uncomfortable. "Go to the nurse's office, _please_ ," he said. "You look horrible."

He thought I was on drugs, probably. No wonder he wanted me gone.

I grabbed my bag and stumbled out of the room.

I left thinking about my father. _My father._

My father would have answers.

He'd have to.

Last time we talked was yesterday evening, when I was bedridden and bored out of my mind. He was keeping me company, only to explode when I didn't deny that Jared was at fault. Everything was my fault, and I admitted it, too. I told him I regretted it. My crying and sniffling were evidence enough that I felt horrible.

I needed to talk to Jared. I needed to talk with Paul. I needed to talk to Sam. Kallie, Mr. Meadows, _everyone._

Most of all, I needed to talk to my father.

[Thirty minutes before]

I was out of breath and shaking by the time I reached my house. Looking at it felt surreal. Thinking about it felt surreal. That word, my favorite word, echoed in my head: tangible. Was it tangible?

It was right in front of me, just barely in reach. The white-picket fences that implied a stupidly-normal family dynamic, the dying grass, the two adjacent dead trees at the front, the wood-and-brick siding. I felt relieved just by looking at it, even if it was small and irrelevant to most of the rest of the world.

I flew past the gate and fell atop the red-brown door.

My fist pounded into it.

I flashed back to all those days—weeks?—ago, when I knocked on the door to Billy Black's home. The dying wood of his home, the wrecked garage. The silence that awaited me after my first three knocks. The waiting game.

That was then. This was now.

But everything, anything, felt the same. Because he didn't answer.

I waited multiple minutes, hundreds of seconds. It all felt like light years to me. Until a thought registered to me.

One that broke my resolve in half.

 _He's at the archives, isn't he?_

He was at the archives.

I needed to go to him.

[Your time is running out, darling]

 _1, 2, Dakota's coming for you.  
_

 _3, 4, he always knows more._

 _5, 6, every feeling's a trick._

 _7, 8, what decision should you make?_

 _9, 10, he's here. You're dead._

 **[No time left]**

* * *

 _A/N: As long as you guys show interest, I'll try doing 1-2 uploads per month. Here's my monthly upload. At the moment I'm undergoing a "I don't give a fuck about school" crisis so once I forego that, I'll be on track to uploading twice a month. Maybe—depends if my advisor gives a fuck and helps me get interested in graduating again. Not to mention… I went three days without sleep. And I had to go to the ER because I looked and felt like a zombie. Life sucks, guys._

 _Any-who, we're approaching a point in the story where I'll have to warn you all about violence, gore, and character deaths (yes, character deaths). There will be a lot of fighting, and one of the major subplots in the next few chapters is Dakota's Gift. Since I'm not the kindest person when it comes to characters, he'll be a bit of a killing machine and I won't be shying away from the psychological and physical damage he's capable of. As we've seen already with Alissa. And another thing—if anything feels rushed or strange, remember that I plan on revising and changing the story in the near-future. And I don't really DO plot holes, so if something confuses you, just ask. And remember: not everything is as it seems. And things will be extremely fast-paced and headache-inducing in the upcoming chapters. Alissa's character will be evolving, her relationship with Paul will be tested, we'll get the long-awaited Alissa-Jared reconciliation (maybe; if you all want them to remain enemies, just say so), and Jacob will be shifting. Dakota's current presence is very Candyman-like. "Be my victim" and all that. He's NOT REAL and he's NOT IN FORKS. We'll learn how and why he's able to access her consciousness in the next chapter._

 _Don't shy from feedback! I really, really appreciate all that's been said so far, and even criticism is more than welcome. It helps better me as a writer and gives me insight on what you all would like to see more of. There will be more Paul-Alissa (SMOOCHING) next chapter, and maybe Jared will appear again? Tell me what you guys think about Dakota! Is he interesting? Are you excited to learn his history and motives? FLASHBACKS GALORE IN THE FUTURE DUDES_

 _And if anyone's interested in knowing more about the lore I've made myself, PM me or email me at kaitlynthekitkat . I'll tell you allllll about it._

 _Till next time! Ta-ta._


	14. Chapter XIV

| THE HUMAN CONDITION |

CHAPTER XIV: YOU BELONG TO ME

"Because I could not stop for Death –

He kindly stopped for me –

The Carriage held but just Ourselves –

And Immortality."

 _Because I could not stop for Death,_ Emily Dickinson

* * *

 **I HAD** run out of time.

My options were limited. The only one that _felt_ possible was the one that meant running. In a moment of decision between fight or flight, my brain _always_ picked "fight" without hesitation, in all these situations I've faced—whether that be Jacob's jerk-a-tude, Jared's mixed personality, the way Paul made me feel. I was always in attack mode, never flee. If I was, maybe I wouldn't have gotten myself tied up here. Maybe I could have escaped my current state.

And Jesus, I _never_ wanted to solidify this as truth, but having the option I never even considered _being_ an option my only choice, I was made into a little girl again. I was just who I never thought I'd see again.

I was back in grade-school, hiding behind my brother in the face of adversity, not willing to face my problems alone. Ever since Jared got me into the habit of fighting my own battles, I'd been doing so. Maybe I was a string-along for a group of friends who didn't want me there, but I fought for myself. Jared could watch and cheer me on. I was a lone savior on a white slate. In a game of street fighting, I was my own main; I no longer needed someone to hide behind.

Or so the narrative doesn't go.

 _You're not fooling anyone, Alissa._

Who _was_ I fooling? An audience outside the looking glass?

I _always_ needed someone to hide myself behind. Someone who'd let me cower. I was a damsel in distress, only this distress was self-inflicted and all internal, and I wanted someone else to pick up my discarded sword and fight my demons. I wasn't used to being alone. Whenever it became that way, I'd use any excuse to bully someone into being my plus-one. Whether that be Paul, Kallie, or Jared, _someone_ was with me.

I hated being alone. I hated only having myself. You never knew what sort of demons you'd face next, the kind that you absolutely couldn't fucking look in the eye alone.

Now was no different. I needed, fucking _needed_ , my father, or I'd never get out of this mess. I'd be in a constant loop of self-inflicted distress. Dakota would stay stuck in my head forever. The only company I'd physically get would be my ten o'clock shrink in a fucking psych ward, and I sure as fuck wouldn't be able to see Paul again without him thinking I was crazy.

The possibilities on what my fate would be were endless—and draining. Thinking about them only made me want to crawl back inside my bed and stay asleep forever. How else can you escape your own thoughts? Especially the ones like—

 _I don't want to think about being dead._

I never liked contemplating death. It was such a taboo subject. After Paul mentioned that my grandfather, the man I used to think died _in his sleep,_ was killed by Dakota for refusing to submit, I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen to me, too. I'd never turn my back on my family just because I wanted power. Having death as my other option really, _really_ made me want to reconsider, though; and I felt pathetic for even daring to think that way. I was just as selfish as they'd always told me I was.

Dad was still upset for what I did. It made me wonder, was he still counting on me to be his successor or did my choices make him decide the line of emissaries ended here? I couldn't imagine him sacrificing the pack's protection just because of a teeny, tiny mistake from a teenage girl running on anger and bitterness. I really couldn't. Dakota was on my trail, and on his, too; we'd somehow overcome him, once I learned what it meant to _be_ a successor. Or we'd die trying.

 _No. It'll just be you. Your father knows what he's doing,_ snarked a hateful voice from within the back of my head.

I never got a chance to see my Dad's powers in action. I hadn't. I was as brainless, as ignorant, as a little girl who still believed in the tooth fairy. Exactly the sort of girl who got in trouble with big bads, expecting a miracle. A miracle in the shape of someone with a blazing sword, sworn in as my personal guard— _where I should have fought for my own safety, not at the behest of someone who fucking hated my guts._

Maybe now I would see the exact things he'd warned me against. The war inside my head was manifesting, growing rapidly, and it was now a mutation of whatever affliction had led to me being here, alive and inhuman. It was _real,_ it was _tangible,_ it was _fucking terrifying._ And again, yet again, I was looking for something solid and warm to hide behind, my intention to save a skin that deserved more a burn than anyone else's in the world.

 _You should get scorched, you selfish fuck._

My brain was right. But the survivalist in me, it didn't care.

I left my home, brain desperate for a relief that couldn't come in the shape of opioids and morphine, and came here.

The door that lead to the Archives. My father's workplace.

The Archives were beautiful and riveting, like a library's _very ancient, very pristine_ Special Collections space. When I walked in, I was hit with a gust of heat from the home-brought heater in the corner and the smell of old books lingering in the air. I didn't see my father anywhere, but I knew he wasn't gone; this place was like a second home. My head was ringing, with a suffocating brand of fear pressing down on my windpipe; coming in felt like signing my death certificate. Looking around felt like a tape of my ongoing tragic death in slow-motion. Breathing felt like a trap.

I ran to the corridor of offices. I ran even faster down the line of doors. If I was watching this in third-person, I might have wondered if the halls were shrinking; why else would someone run like they're being chased by a maniac? My eyes flashed over metal tags, reading the names as I passed. Eventually one caught my eye.

 _Richard M. Cameron._

That was it. _This_ was it. The moment I'd anticipated for what felt like eons, in the shape of a fucking hour.

I slammed the door open like a reverse _Game Over._ I was breathing heavy. My head was killing me. My heart was out of control. And I felt like I was _shaking,_ my God; I knew it was pathetic, I knew I needed to have a fixation over myself, but I succumbed to it anyway. _Fear can't be controlled, breathing can't be controlled,_ I mentally chanted, a sweaty hand grasping for something solid; it painfully made contact with the door's handle. I opened my mouth to shout to all who would listen the truth of today and the tragedy of tomorrow, _knowing_ it'd just be my _stupid_ , undocile father listening—

 _No, no, no. Wait. That isn't right._

I came to a screeching stop when I saw more than just my Dad occupying the room.

The entire goddamned _Council_ was in there. And every single member, who'd just been having a "serious" debate it seemed like, stopped their chitchat to stare at me. Me, the prodigal daughter, with Jupiter-sized eyebags and frizzy, uncombed hair; the essence of _Freaks and Geeks_. Definitely not the gallant hero they'd been waiting for. Not the girl from storybooks.

That was false—I could definitely pass as a damsel in distress. Just without the fancy dresses and lilting voice. _Maybe_ an unscrewed-gears version of Juliet.

My Dad was sitting at his desk, having just been speaking to Harry Clearwater and Billy Black. _Civilly._ But that warmth quickly drowned, replaced by a tension from the moment I burst through the door. His eyes were narrowed and his face was hard when he snapped his head over to me and said, "Alissa, what the _hell_? School isn't out."

"The nurse told me to leave," I said shakily, at best only sidestepping my nerves. I was riveted from head to toe. "I thought she called you. She said she called home."

 _You didn't even go to the nurse's office, you lying bitch._

I didn't want to admit what he thought was true. No one would, if they were in my position; the biggest disappointment known to mankind. Dad thought very _lowly_ of me, as most adults did. I doubted that he even had standards for me anymore.

Dad scratched the back of his neck, struggling to hold eye contact with me. "That must have been your brother."

 _Oh. He's—_ home _?_

"Oh." I felt horrible, just by the mention of Jared. But—I couldn't afford distraction. And this was a _fucking_ doozy of one. I swallowed back my guilt, blurting out, "I'm fucking terrified. I can't—deal with all _this—_ not anymore. I can't. I can't…"

I was shaking so bad that my knees buckled. Sue, who'd been standing by her husband, lurched forward to grab me.

Dad stood hurriedly from his desk, looking alarmed. His entire face was lit with worry. "Alissa. What's wrong?"

I refused to cry. Nope, nada, fucking zilch—crying wasn't going to happen. It wasn't a trademark of me. Being a bitch was. Being _annoying_ was. But crying? That was saved for emotionally constipated do-gooders. It only happened to me when I was truly, _truly_ fucked up—and even then, it wouldn't happen in front of other people.

" _Dakota_ ," I spat out.

The entire room became tense, with that itsy-bitsy, three-syllable name. Dad visibly paled, and the other adults shuffled closer, sharing nervous looks. I regretted speaking at all. But it was necessary, wasn't it? This wasn't _my_ battle; this was a battle for everyone involved, and that included the Council. That included my Dad. That included Sam Uley and his cult of wolfmen.

Fucking hell. With a quick look about, I realized—Sam was in here, too. And where he was, his cronies were sure to follow.

 _You're being paranoid._

"Alissa," Dad said slowly, sharply. He was more scared than I'd ever seen him in my entire life—and I was there the day my Mom first got sick. Seeing him now flashed me back to that time, when the only thing that mattered was getting Mom better. What a contrast, compared to now. Back then, things were harsh but reality was just that—reality. Now I was stuck in a supernatural thriller _inside_ of a painstaking set of real life events, and in real life, the heroes never won. "What do you mean… 'Dakota?'"

" _Does_ — _can_ —" I sputtered, still in Sue's arms. Everything felt wrong, so wrong that I was a lurched heart-beat away from tucking tail and fleeing the room. I regretted coming here, for one. I especially regretted thinking I needed help in a time where I was the girl who cried wolf. _It was the fucking human condition, the rule that says we all play the same game,_ rationale told me. _We're all identical pawns with the same wits and survival instincts._ If I wanted to dive into philosophy, this was the part where I thought about fate's play in my impulsiveness and subsequent consequences. I was _meant_ to come here. I was always going to be selfish, seeking help and never for the better good. This was labelled down to my behavioral patterns, the very ones that never had morality as their defining feature; Jesus _fuck,_ I was an antihero, wasn't I?

 _You're not even much of that, sweetheart._ Dakota's hateful red eyes flashed from behind my eyelids.

Eyes opened. Body stilled. A sudden, daunting feeling of self-awareness, one that left me deadly conscious of the severe eyes around the room.

"I _swear_ he was there last night," I _finally_ managed. "It felt like it. I think he's following me. Maybe he couldn't get you, so now he's after _me._ An easy target, you know? I—I can't fight back! I don't know how!" I felt frightened, another not-so-Alissa thing. My chest burned with an itch to scream, cry, and flail. Like a raven with clipped wings, if you damned bastards want metaphor. "It's like he's fucking Freddy Kreuger."

My father slowly shook his head at me, seeming confused. "Alissa… He wasn't there with you."

"What?" I breathed. "What do you mean?"

"It's time we have a chat," he said, glancing around the room at his group of friendly neighborhood councilmen. And woman—though Sue was just as much a liability as I was. A nurse in need of a safety belt. "They need to stay as well. You have to tell us everything, or we can't help you."

He was acting different, so much different, than what I'd been expecting. Dad gave the impression from our chat that he was angry with me, and everything I'd ever done to him and Jared was unforgivable. I mean, maybe it was. Maybe he wanted the truth out of me and he'd send me off to stay out of his way for the remainder of this battle, just because I was only useful when out of fire range. I couldn't say it was out of a want for my safety, even if I really, really wanted it to be that case.

It was for everyone else's sake. After all, I was a ticking time bomb.

Sam scrutinized me deeply, his frown deeper than his brow-dip. "Are you sure she needs to know? Paul wouldn't be happy," he said, glancing at Dad—then back at me.

Dad frowned right back. "I am aware of her connection to Paul, Sam. Trust me in that I would only involve my own _daughter_ in something that could get her killed if I didn't have any other choice."

"Richard. Sam," said old Quil, face devoid of personal emotion. When Dad and Sam turned from their own conversation to look at him, he went on in saying, "Dakota is sending a _warning_ to the tribe. Alissa is involved much more than you all see now. She isn't just the messenger, Richard. She's a fledgling _emissary_."

"Dakota targeted me from the moment I first grew into my Gift, _Quil_ ," Dad said angrily, not anything like someone would an old friend. I was reminded of Dad's jealousy, and his dislike for Quil's close relations with everyone on the Council—except him. _Why are you thinking of this now? It's fucking irrelevant_. But he'd been speaking to Billy, whom he _hated,_ and fucking Harry, whom he hardly spoke to. Nothing made sense. "My experience is no different to Alissa's now."

"How can you say so? You haven't any idea the type of warnings he's sent through her," old Quil retorted. He glanced in my direction. "She has yet to tell us anything. You're attributing your own tales as your daughter's."

The entire council turned to look at me. I was just getting my strength back, and my knees no longer felt like jelly gluing my bottom limbs' bones together. I let go of Sue, pushing back to stand and look less of a distressed damsel and more like a warrior back from battle. I was putting on a charade, as I so often did, trying _so fucking hard_ not to get stuck in my own head again. I forced Dad to lock gazes with me. He was the only one I could stand to look at without feeling pressure; instead, what I got was utter shame.

"Last night, I—I snuck out. I went to see Paul," I said.

Dad's facial muscles went taut, and hard, a wrinkled face even more wrinkly. Quite a feat for something so gaunt. "Alone, Alissa? You could have gotten hurt, or lost, or _worse—_ "

I didn't even have the energy to glare. "You wouldn't let me see _anyone_. I was tired and afraid and confused. Not to mention you were _pissed_ at me. Jared was gone, you were angry, Paul and Kallie weren't anywhere; I felt lonelier than I've ever been in my damn life."

His face completely fell. "Alissa—"

"I went to see him. After we talked, he walked me back home. But, then I was asleep, and then I woke _up_ or something, it's like he came out of fucking nowhere. And he grabbed my throat. He held it till it bruised. I thought I was going to die. He said, _We'll talk later._ Then he was just—gone."

Everyone was staring at me intently. Dad looked especially keen.

"Your neck isn't bruised at all. Nothing about you seems to have been part of a scuffle," said old Quil thoughtfully.

I shook my head. "After—after that, I couldn't sleep. I went to school. I thought I was safe there, until I went to sleep in one of my classes and he just, he _came for me_ and I thought I was going to die again, but _no_ , I just woke up screaming my lungs out. Everyone thinks I'm fucking crazy."

"Alissa," Dad started, "Dakota isn't coming for you when you're asleep. He has powers, yes, but they have nothing to do with being in your dreams."

" _W-What?"_ I'd been feeling it, and I'd been stating it as fact, but this was the one time when I could truly, absolutely say my heart stopped for a second.

Dad flinched away from my pleading gaze, looking instead at his office desk, his hand fiddling with a piece of peeling paint. "I have fought to stay sane for two decades, never defeating a monster who preys on my fears and thoughts. He knows _just_ how to manipulate anyone to feel insane from false memories alone."

"What?" I stared at him. "What does that mean? What's his power?"

"He is a thought puppeteer," Dad said softly. "He takes your memories and perceptions of reality and twists them, turning an innocent classroom into empty woods. He implants events you think have happened to scare you and perplex everyone around you. It's how he drives you to do his bidding. After a taste of a free mind, you'll do anything to keep it that way—even going so far as to make your mind stop entirely."

"Is… is that what happened to Grandpa?" I asked, feeling faint all of a sudden. I thought Grandpa died _by_ Dakota's hand, but instead, he'd killed himself to flee Dakota's mind tricks; this was news to me. _Very recent news._ Yet not so much. Paul had mentioned a semblance of this before. _Why did I not_ fret _then? Why is it only now that I'm giving a shit?_ I felt my heart drop, a fleeting feeling of grief striking me in the chest.

"Your mother as well, she…" Dad clenched his eyes shut. "I have lied to both you and your brother a countless amount of times. And for that, I apologize, Alissa. I never meant to hurt you by keeping you in the dark. We all see what happens when you're told deep truths from outside sources."

 _He's talking about Jared,_ I thought. He was citing my instance of petty revenge towards my brother, when I'd taken action in the lies and deceit by hurting us both. One of Jared's biggest fears was hurting those he loves. If he did something he could never take back, it'd put him in a situation where he'd always, _always_ look at me with remorse. I knew it then, and I knew it now.

I'd become just what Jared had been to me. I'd taken away any chance we had to go back to the way things were, leaving him to never stop feeling guilty and _always_ wishing things could change.

"Dad—" I puckered my lips. "Mom was _sick._ How the fuck did Dakota hurt her? She died from pneumonia."

He shook his head, looking distressed. That's when I knew something was wrong.

 _How?_

My lip quivered. "How?" I repeated.

"She—he—I. Alissa, _please_ ," Dad said, looking hungover without the alcoholic inducement. "Please don't make me say it aloud. I beg you."

"Did he—turn her?" I asked, forgetting I was in a room of Dad's contacts. They probably already knew. They were probably looking at me with pity. I didn't care. "Did he _rip her throat out?_ What, _Richard?_ What the _flying fuck_ did that monster do?"

She died when I was young. She died and left Dad a fucking mess and Jared in charge of taking care of me. Maybe he'd been a mess because he knew it was his fault. _No maybes._ I knew nothing.

My brain raced, heart matching pace, and nothing felt right. Not a single damned thing felt real.

Dad's face went white, the color of Heaven. "He took _everything_ from me."

"I lost her too!" I cried. Knowing it wasn't right. _Knowing_ damned well she died before I even hit fourth grade, and she'd been the love of Dad's life. He lost that light ever since she'd died. He'd become a shell of a person. So much so, he couldn't take care of himself, much less a set of kids—one the near-spitting image of his goddamned wife.

"Alissa—Dakota, he, he… I can't." He shook his head. Not talking about the closed casket and the fact he let me believe I couldn't say goodbye because she didn't want me to see her so sickly. He wasn't apologizing anymore. He was just looking for a way out because he damned well _knew_ he was wrong.

"Dakota, he's gonna kill _me_ now," I said with a laugh. I felt hysterical. I just wanted to laugh! Laugh it up! Laugh until my insides hurt! This was all so fucking _funny._ We were a two-man act with a wonderful slate of onlookers, all highly satisfied by this unexpected fallout. Who didn't love some drama? Death, blood, _gore galore;_ death, death, death.

 _Death._

My mother was killed by someone now on the hunt to kill me.

My granddad committed suicide because of my hunter.

My father had been hunted for twenty years, but he was just watching his loved ones die instead of getting the same fate handed to him.

What sheer fucking luck. Or maybe it was a curse, disguised as mercy.

The entire room was spinning, withered faces watching me, their wrinkles etched with concern.

"Dakota is becoming more and more sloppy. His terrorizing edges closer, and his target is someone without any idea how to shield from his attacks," slurred Billy, from his corner. I almost forget he existed, standing next to that son of a bitch I called a Dad; he was like background cement, really. And his words were slurred—if they were visible, they'd blur and shudder—like I had canals full of cotton and a brain that refused to comprehend sense. "He awaits our approach. He thinks we'll attack, as it's one of the young ones he's targeted."

Dad looked up from where he'd been trying not to cry, face fucked up and older beyond his true years all at once. "He's gone long enough without our offense," he said hoarsely. "I refuse to let him take another."

 _Another that I love._

While he refused to stay silent, I had begun to feel something. And this something, it wasn't a bodily reaction; it _made_ my skin crawl and my breath quicken. It wasn't grief, either, or anger. I'd felt those already, and this shit was making it disintegrate. It was like an itch from within my head that I couldn't locate or scratch. It was miniscule, enough that it could go undetected, but I felt it grow more and more restless the longer the adults in the room conversed. And this feeling, so fucking disturbing and foreign, became a throbbing pulse, an itch replaced by utter, searing pain.

I knew what it was.

Alarmed, and growing fatigued by the second, I began to panic.

"He's here! _he's_ _here_! he's in my _mind_ , he's—"

* * *

Things went black.

* * *

Things weren't okay.

* * *

And the worst part?

I was no longer in a room of people who at least pretended to care.

* * *

I was completely, _utterly_ alone.

* * *

I woke in a scary, dark, unknown place that reminded me of what Hell would feel like. Cold, abandoned, dusty, _black,_ and so much like a prison cell that I wanted to vomit. Cry, let go of my stomach acid alongside my dignity, fucking hit the walls until they caved in on me. Frankly, I just wanted a reaction from the place. One minute I was in the Archives, surrounded by people who'd deceived me for years, and suddenly I was in a cell, my wrist handcuffed to a pipe. It was something out of a _horror movie,_ for fuck's sake, and I wasn't the type to just sit there and wait for the killer to come and carve me into a mask.

I was the type to attract danger and repeal it within one segment of action.

I clanged the metal and shook the pipe and screamed obscenities, body a wiggling worm of anger and self-hatred.

" _Fuck you, Dakota! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"_ I screamed until my vocal cords completely cut out. My throat hurt afterwards. It felt like I'd swallowed sandpaper. "Stupid… vampire fuck… come here so I can _spit_ on you…"

" _Spit_ , huh?" Speak of the devil, and _oh_ _look_!—here the smug-looking bastard appears. He had something behind his back, a horrifying smile on his face. His beady red eyes screamed danger. But the fangs peeking out from beneath his gums? That's what truly put me on guard. "I'm here now, darling. I'm sure you've anticipated this chat. I _did_ mention a chat, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you geriatric lizard," I spat out again, raging against the handcuff. I was already mustering up saliva, ready to plant one big, fat couplet on the fucker. "Come closer, so I can give you my gift. Before we have this _chat._ "

"A present, hm?" Dakota was as deceitful-looking and handsome as he'd appeared last time, carrying the look of someone who knew he could charm anyone into doing what he wanted. He was a special kind of monster; the kind that made up half of mankind. Defeats the purpose of "special," huh? "If you insist, dear—"

I spat right in his mouth, as he was speaking.

He stopped rather suddenly. And he blinked. He blinked, blinked, _blinked—_ like fucking taillights. His lips curled into a sinister, hateful smile.

Before I could give him my most insincere apologies, he had me by the throat, pressed up against the cell wall, handcuff pressing painfully up against my wrist. My windpipe was pressed so hard I couldn't breathe. My eyes were clamped shut so I didn't have a front-row seat to watching my demise. I was defenseless, _brave_ with a capital "reckless," armed with nothing but an armada of sarcasm and pathetic wits. What a _great_ combination; no wonder he looked like he wanted to kill me.

Wait. _He looks like he wants to_ eat _me._

Like he probably did my mother.

"Gi..ve… it… you..r… best… sh…ot…" I choked out, managing a painful grin. I wanted to be reunited with my mother; this was not something that scared me in the slightest. Death would be a God-send.

But he didn't kill me. And he didn't reply.

He _dropped_ me.

I coughed, hard, holding my throat like it was the most treasurable thing in the world. I was looking around frantically until my eyes came back to rest upon the fucker who'd tried murdering me.

"T—"

He jabbed something painfully sharp into my throat. I whimpered, a shaking hand reaching up to grope at the spot that seared with unimaginable pain, and tapped something syringe-like. It took seconds for my brain to process that I'd assumed correct.

 _A…. needle?_

"W—what?" I looked up at Dakota, hoarse voice a goner. And I was concerned. Monsters like this didn't do things without purpose.

He was smiling now, dabbing a mysteriously-there handkerchief at his mouth.

"Death is but an open door to immortality," he said to me.

Then he ripped the needle from out of its insertion point.

And right on time, my vision went dark.

* * *

 _I'm going to die._

* * *

Dakota had injected me with poison.

I knew that's what it was. I knew it's why the liquid was black, a shade of liquid no one wanted _near_ their bloodstream, and fuck, it was acting fast. It was _traveling_ fast. I'd fainted, or felt like it, but now I was utterly conscious and feeling the full effects of death as it knocked at my chamber door. One moment I was just limp against the pipe, then I was unchained and free to leave. Except, I couldn't move. I was entirely jelly, no sense of mobility in any body part; enough that all I could do was wiggle my fingers, and hope for a miracle.

 _A miracle… Tch._ I'd snubbed Dakota. He wanted me dead, from an illusion I didn't know how to escape.

I looked down at my limbs. The charred coloring was going up my veins at a terrifyingly fast speed, going as far as my elbow before slowing. Then I was stuck in a time-slot, where I could only move my fingers and talk at slow, deadbeat speeds but the movement of my poison was a touch quicker than a beat of thunder. I wanted to cry out for my father; I wanted to plead my tormenter that was no longer present to _stop, please, no more;_ I wanted to scratch until there were open wounds that the poison could bleed out of. I'd never been so scared in my life, even in all the times I'd truly thought there _wasn't_ anything else so scary; but this, this took the fucking cake.

I was growing more fatigued and woozy the longer this poison suctioned out my willpower. The longer it took to infiltrate my immune system and link its way to my heart. The longer before my blood became black and thick as tar.

"Stop fighting it, Alissa. Just let go." _Fuck. No, don't do this._

I was imagining his voice. Paul wasn't here. And he _certainly_ wouldn't tell me to die.

At least… I hoped he wouldn't.

Tears fell silently down my face. _This isn't real. It's all a fucking game,_ I said into the abyss of my headspace, pretending someone was here to listen. Dakota's smug, sadistic face came to mind. Maybe, if he appeared, he'd pity me and decide I wasn't the right person to antagonize. He'd realize I was ridiculously stupid and not cut out for the supernatural race, even if I was blessed with a curse called _touch of the wolf-girl._ I wanted Paul, I wanted Dad, I wanted Jared; I wanted _family,_ and _home,_ and _safety._ This was nothing. This was death, and pain, and destruction; three things I never wanted to see again, let alone feel. I was dying. _It felt like I was dying._

Dakota… that _fucker…_

 _You're trying to trick me. This isn't poison._

If I concentrated hard enough, I could hear a sloshing sound from within my stomach. It was the poison, as it was quickly hitting every inch of my body, even the parts that didn't matter. My gallbladder was just a useless hack of organ, living in my torso's domain, and even it was aching something _fine;_ every last goddamned one of them, throbbing, plagued by poison. Even if it was an illusion, it wasn't harmless. It had thoughts of its own, seeking to eliminate me from the inside out, taking me to town in one of the most _ruthless_ ways.

After what I'd learned today of my mother, I almost wanted Dakota to win. It'd teach my father not to lie and not to let other people die for his causes. It'd teach a lesson I was too much of a wimp to be the instructor of myself.

On the last inch of my life, when the poison was so deeply felt that my own head felt like it was swimming with tar, Dakota appeared once more.

 _You're back,_ I thought through a bleary gaze. I was out of commission in all departments except thinking and breathing. Things were going dark. Dakota's tall, lean silhouette was all I could see.

"If you die here, it'll trick your body into thinking it needs to die, too," Dakota told me, his words sounding far, far away. And velvety… so velvety. Like silk. And velvet. Beautiful and toasty. "We had so much to discuss, you and I. Yet here you go, strength failing. Is this the type of rodent I'm meant to trap?"

All I did was stare into his abyss, hoping he wouldn't stare back.

"What a pity. Your father, Richard, is a fine opponent. He'll do rather nice for Aro's purposes. You, on the other hand, have done marvelous as bait. I got quite tired of your _antics,_ though, I do say, Alissa." He was shaking his head, I just knew it. My existence was all folly now, thanks to Dad's existence. It had always been folly. "You're quite abrasive, and that mouth of yours is in the fine-making to charm trouble. You know that, too, don't you? I find it all quite unsurprising."

I was slipping further and further into that same abyss that carried Dakota's soul.

"Stay with me, child," said Dakota, like this was all some big joke. I think he was holding my hand, but I didn't know at all. I couldn't feel anything. I could barely see his shadow. "We still have much to talk about—"

Suddenly, _very_ suddenly, something cracked. A creak emitted. And all feeling disappeared, including that sluggish, fatigued headspace I'd just been occupied with. It was like I hadn't just been at Death's door at all.

With regained vigor, I got to my knees, yanking at an imaginary handcuff—and flickering my frantic gaze around. The area I was in was falling apart, like it hadn't just been _perfectly_ conditioned, caving it underneath all the pressure it had from something unknown. Something I didn't quite understand.

Dakota _was_ holding my hand, and I could see his face turning gradually darker. But—that made absolutely no sense. He wasn't a human. He couldn't regain color.

" _What_ —what the?" he sputtered, as surprised as vampires were capable of. For once, I couldn't blame him. But I knew—I fucking _knew_ —by his face that he realized what this was. And he was utterly terrified of it.

The illusion around us went up in flames. All that was left was black.

And thus, the wolf and the lamb fell into shadows.

 _Together,_ just as they were never supposed to be.

* * *

 _A/N: Hey. I'm sorry for being so bad at updating. I just keep looking at this book and thinking it's bad. It kinda is tbh. I'm thinking about deleting it._

 _I hope Alissa's not a Mary Sue or a MPDG. I hope she isn't annoyingly unrealistic (I want her to be as real as possible) or annoyingly annoying. I hope she's human. I truly based her on my personal flaws, and I decided to make a character who's problematic in all the wrong ways with room for growth. Did I succeed?_

 _This chapter was probably completely "what the fuck?" at large. This entire chapter is a roller coaster. I was gonna go one way with it, then it went a complete other. Next chapter will be a game of cat and mouse with Alissa and Dakota, as the two go back and forth between states of disillusion and unconsciousness._

 _Confusion explained: Dakota is a "thought puppeteer," as mentioned. He's like a mind reader with an extra layer. He can manipulate thoughts and change your present reality. However, you can't be asleep when he does it. And Alissa's Dad was wrong; Dakota was near her at the times he fucked around with her, he just wasn't completely there. He has to be close and in range to access minds. The reasons for why the illusion suddenly failed will be explained in the next chapter, as will Alissa's Mom's death, her Granddad's death, and Dakota's powers. Next chapter will get a Jared reunion at the end of it. And it'll have the idea of "bardo" included in it. You'll see what that's all about soon… maybe. If I don't delete this book :)  
_

 _The story's heating up and an action-packed climax for this portion of the story is approaching. Hope you're ready for death, destruction, and angst._

 _Please give feedback. I'm really considering deleting this as I don't feel proud of it in the slightest, so tell me if you want it to stay. I won't continue it if I feel like no one's enjoying it._


	15. Chapter XV

| THE HUMAN CONDITION |

CHAPTER XV: YOU'RE NOT REAL

"The loneliest moment in someone's life is  
when they are watching their whole world fall apart,  
and all they can do is stare blankly."

—F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby_

* * *

 **MY MOTHER WAS DEAD**.

I remember it clearly. I remember it like it happened moments ago, instead of in my days as a child, when Jared and I were just getting our permanent front teeth. I remember it like it was the worst day of my life, and perhaps if things didn't spiral out of control like they have in the past few months, I would have named it that. But now it was just a horrible, unwanted memory I can't erase, regardless of my happiest and unhappiest memories. It sticks to the back of my head, a lingering thought that comes and goes like rain.

Even on my own deathbed, Mom came to me in white. A head of black curls that looked unnatural, caramel skin glowing bright and ethereal, her hazel eyes a sentiment of calm I'd always craved since things first went wrong. She looked just as beautiful as the day she married my father, in a dress far too rich to have been what she'd worn on her wedding day. And I saw the pictures; her dress was a hand-me-down from her own mother's third attempt. It felt off-putting, yet I couldn't look away. Maybe I was a deer in headlights, caught in a trance by a mother's love, something I hadn't had for nearly a decade. But… I could barely stand to stop staring into her warm, cheerful, _familiar_ eyes.

Her smile was so wide, it could tear the imaginary seams that kept her skin intact. A cheekbone rise that gave runaway models a stroll for their money, and indentations that faired horribly in hiding her age. Beautiful, in a way I'd never be. Timeless, even. So lovely and real and happy, I felt like the reality I was experiencing was just a rewind of times long past. Or maybe this was erasure of my worst memories. I was offered a life that would end all that had happened, and open up new opportunities.

None that included Paul, or mine and Jared's reconciliation, or Dad's final apology. None.

I wasn't a sentimental person, not in the least. I didn't care about things considered priceless and unique to others; some days, I hardly cared about myself. People were always just people to me, not very human yet not voids within skin, either. I could trash items I'd had for years without a single regret. I didn't have a thing, a dime, in my life I couldn't fair without, unless you counted pizza rolls as a non-necessity. I had people I loved, but they weren't without their faults, and I certainly wouldn't flounder if they suddenly disappeared.

But looking at Mom, I could have been sentimental. If I didn't grow up with a man and his hardboiled son as my only guardians, hailing high above me like titans, I wouldn't be here, in the wrong end of caring.

I felt her presence like an itch that couldn't be scratched. She stood before me, white, whole, alive, with this look on her face—I, I couldn't describe it. Or maybe, I just wasn't trying enough. Maybe I was pathetically dimwitted in regards to my emotions, something I'd heard enough to know it as truth.

There was no use in denying anything at Death's Doors. How could you, when there's someone behind it who knows everything _about_ you, from your favorite sushi place to the night you lost your virginity? Your deepest regrets, your happiest memories, the things you love most in life, the things you passionately hate? They all exist in a realm of consciousness far beneath our peripheral and our senses, somewhere that our soul sleeps and rests within. Here within limbo, something I never thought possible but was experiencing alongside what I feared most, I couldn't bring myself to lie. I could no longer go on with deceiving myself. Time was limitless, but it felt like it was ticking fast, and I wanted everything out in the open.

Especially within this moment, the moment that limbo projected to me in the time before I was set to die. My mother was _alive._ And she was listening. She was watching. She was absorbing everything I was now like she didn't think I was a failure. . She had a smile on her face, a tilt that couldn't be fraud. The distance between us spoke volumes, as she neared, as her feet padded the fog and gravel of pavement that laid in wait from what was behind Death's Doors.

I was ready to speak. But so was she.

She stepped forward, bringing up my tearing, blinking eyes to meet hers.

"I'm sorry I couldn't see you grow, darling," my mother said, her first words to me in years. I couldn't remember her voice. I'd been so young, all I could do now to remember her face was stare at pictures. We hadn't recorded often from before her death. It made her soft words so much more valuable to me. I savored them with every syllable. "I'm sorry I left you so young. You have grown to be _so_ beautiful. You're such a wonderful girl, Alissa. I'm proud to be your mother."

"Mom—" I choked. I choked on my next words, feeling like they were meaningless anyhow, like saying anything would ruin this moment when I wanted to cherish it anywhere I went from thence on. " _Mom._ "

"I know," she said to me. "I know." Her footsteps echoed in the small space around us, as she reached forward and gathered me into her arms.

She embraced me.

My mother, she was _embracing me._

Not my mother. _Not my mother._

 _It's not real,_ I told myself. I even whispered it aloud. I said, "This isn't real." And it wasn't—I knew that. After Dakota's plans fell through and we both fell into a deep unconscious state, I awoke here, in somewhere that reflected what haunted me most: my mother's death. For years I couldn't move past it, and instead of confronting my past and seeking answers, I instead fell into angry patterns, choosing to be bitter when I could have easily chosen to let everything go. I would never get my mother back, and having the feeling of nothingness creep more into my conscious thought the longer she touched me without _touching me,_ I felt myself gain the part of me that had been dormant since Dad first told Jared and me her line had went dead.

For the first time in years, I was beginning to see reason within the irrational. I thought about all the times I'd turned from thoughts of my Mother until she became a passing thought altogether. All the pent-up feelings of anger, disbelief, denial, spite—they washed themselves away, turning instead to exhaustion.

I was so tired. I was tired of fighting. I was tired of denying. I was tired of being knocked down every time I attempted to stand. My mother was _dead,_ and no amount of self-pity and groveling at God's feet would bring her back. Looking for answers wouldn't get rid of the constant ache I'd felt in the wake of her passing. _Nothing_ would; it'd sit there until I died in the decades to come. She was a memory now, permanent against my will. No amount of brainwashing would make her suddenly go away.

Even now, she was still a fixture in my conscience.

"You're not real," I whispered, biting down on my lip impossibly hard. My fingers clawed into her exposed back, a rage rising in me, until it was clutching my throat and I had no control over myself anymore. I didn't want her near me, I didn't want to feed into her gluttonous energy; _she's part of him, she's not her. She's not Mom_. "You're not real. _You're part of him._ "

 _Of course_ she was part of him. Dakota and I, we were no longer within his rodeo, instead somewhere between his and mine. We were at a stalemate. He was nowhere to be found. But I knew he was somewhere. I knew he was eager to finish what he'd started.

He'd rendered me indisposed, scatterbrained, focusing on my own unsolved turmoil instead of the chaos dispersed by the fucker himself.

Looking into my mother's face, I felt bile. There was a bug in my stomach kicking and punching everywhere in reach, turning my innards to dust. I was breathless. It was hard to feel anger, or want to hurt someone, when the person you were looking at—the person you wanted to _hurt—_ was someone you once loved with every fiber of your being.

But I felt it regardless. I knew deep within, I was staring into a conscious part of me wearing a dead loved one's face. Like was intended, I was angry, bitter, and broken. Dakota wanted me to let him in and do nothing to save myself from his darkness.

"You don't love me," I spat at my mother. I was close to tears and so _angry._ I wanted peace. Fuck, did I want peace. But this place was a cross between Hell and a nightmare. _Nothing_ was peaceful here, and if it was, its foundation was laid in other people's suffering. "You're not part of me. You're a fucking _fraud._ You want to hurt me, just like he does."

My brain had turned off, replaced by the hatred and anxiety that had slowly grown inside of me for years.

 _Fuck you._

"Alissa, it's me. I'm her! I'm your mother," she cried at me, as I pushed and pushed at her, bringing her closer to Death's Doors. Where she'd fall into oblivion and never come back. _Go to the afterlife,_ I thought, but didn't say, her excuses and pleas falling on deaf ears. _Just fucking go. Leave me alone._

I wanted her to leave me alone.

 _Leave me alone._

I didn't want her here.

 _I don't want you here._

She wasn't real.

 _You're not real._

The doors swung open, and tentacles of liquid black shimmied from the cracks, until an entire canvas of black was awaiting me and my mother. It was tall, daunting, horrifying, more black than I'd ever imagined death would be—more ominous than anything a Stephen King novel might have ever projected in my childhood. I was caught between the person I was trying to make disappear and the tentacles as they slithered between my limbs and wrapped themselves around the woman before me's limbs. I watched as she screamed and squirmed, calling for mercy from _me,_ her daughter, trying to grab hold of one of the doors as they menacingly tugged her backwards.

"ALISSA I LOVE YOU, THIS IS UNLIKE YOU, YOU'RE NOT A MONSTER! YOU'RE MY BABY! THIS ISN'T YOU—THIS ISN'T YOU! PLEASE—MERCY—"

A final scream fell on my ears, sinking deep into my core, before the doors swung closed. And her last words were lost forever.

 _You're not a monster._

Even if this wasn't real, even if this was a simulation induced by my mind as it struggled coming to grasp with what happened and why I didn't see her before she'd died, I was still stricken with horror. Grief. Paralyzed to the ground by the thought I was no better than monsters, if I could let my own mother be dragged to Hell.

It was not right that I remained. I wasn't a good person, not anymore. Too many things had happened for me to rewind my mistakes and take a different path. Everything was so _fucked;_ no amount of apologies, pleas, and cries would save me from my own fate as a horrible person, as a hypocrite, as a _monster._

I was no better than the atrocious things hidden behind that damned door, was I?

As if sensing my descent into a path only monsters could follow, the darkness crept in on me.

A slow clap emerged from behind me.

 _Oh no._ I wasn't alone anymore.

I turned to meet the dancing blood-red eyes of Dakota, and his snow-white palms as they collided.

" _Beautiful_ show," he told me, his words nothing like the silk from his previous appearances. It was hard and gravelly. As was his gaze. Neither looked pleased, and there was a tension in the air that couldn't be cut with a knife. He was barren of smiles and niceties, every last bit of charm replaced by a need for blood. It was no coincidence he'd come here to find me, and Death's Doors behind us suddenly felt like a guideline for how to die, rather than how to kill others. I was utterly trapped. "I have to say, I wasn't expecting anything like it. Cassandra Cameron, killed by her own _daughter_. Rather dramatic for my tastes, I will say—"

"She wasn't _real_ , you fuck," I said through gritted teeth. "She's fucking dead. Killed by you. There's nothing you can say that will make me think I killed my own fucking mother."

Dakota laughed at me. "You're thinking you did at this very moment," he purred. "' _She said I'm a monster. She loves me, even in her dying breath. Her cries—they were real.'_ Sound familiar, darling?"

"Shut the fuck up." I refused to look at him. My lip curled, and if there was a part of me that wasn't paralyzed, I couldn't feel it. "Go back to taking Viagra, or whatever it is you paste-faced seniors do to get it going."

"Trying to provoke me, Alissa?" Everything was a question with him. I refused to give answers. "You know as well as I do that your mother may be a figment in your imagination, but what you see is your perception of her before she took her last breath. It's your last memory of her. What you see here is a design brought together by your fears, your regrets."

What he said caught my attention. I knew then— _his angle_ , what he was trying to get from antagonizing me. "Your architectural design," I said slowly, no longer staring at the gravel; our gazes clashed, cutting one another with the hatred hidden behind each sea of color. "What I saw earlier. The prison. What I _felt_ earlier. The poison. It failed. That means something. Why did it fail, Dakota?"

A small chuckle left him. "Courtesy of _you,_ darling," he said, in that same appalling purr. Then he paused. Dakota observed me, his brutal eyes leaving no part of my body unscathed. They came to rest upon my shirt collar, where blemished skin peeked out. "I see a pattern. You know nothing about your ancestry, nor do you mine. It makes you sloppy and uncoordinated. Your words are empty. I see you, Alissa, and you're not as strong as you claim to be."

"You don't know _anything_ about me," I told him, finding it difficult not to scream or spit in his face. My patience had snapped. "So shut the fuck up."

"But I _do_ know." Dakota ventured closer to me, wearing a hateful grin. "I know you continue on a war path as ignorant to my capabilities as your own family's deception. You thought your mother died from an ailment. You forced your brother to shift and he's lost to both you and your father. Your father and his associates think you're foolish. And I?"

He came closer, until he and I were seeing eye to eye.

" _I think you're once bitten, twice shy._ "

A wind swept my hair from its resting place and tossed rightward into my mouth. I brushed a hand across my lips, the wet strands following the movement. Looking at where Dakota once stood, he was nowhere to be seen.

He thought he knew me. But I realized—he was mistaken. So very wrong.

"This world is neither yours nor mine," the killer said, but his voice couldn't be placed. I stood stock-still, just listening, never moving my eyes from where he'd been moments ago. "The two of us, we can shift and pull apart the pieces of our shared consciousness, but we will never reach compromise. I can hurt you here. You can twist and turn me into discarded parts. But this world is not reality. Everything is possible, and you and I? We're _both_ game-makers."

"But why the fuck are we here? Not in that prison you call a mind?" I fought not to cry my words out, but they came out like pleas anyway. "Everything was destroyed. But everything here is complete."

"Nice eye," said Dakota, in a quiet, callous tone. Before I could blink, my hair flew again and Dakota was standing in front of me. My body lurched forward when he caught my jaw between his thumb and index finger, jerking it mere inches north. Our gaze was nowhere near friendly, a glare that friends and foes alike wouldn't dare sharing. If anything, this was bloodborne time enemies, people who wouldn't care if the other were dropped in a bath of hydrofluoric acid. People who'd do the killing themselves. "You're dreaming, Alissa."

 _No. No, that can't be right. Dad said…_ He said he wasn't Freddy fucking Kreuger. He couldn't be in dreams; he couldn't target me when I was most vulnerable. All his visits were during conscious states. Even now, I was sure I was in my Dad's office, making a complete fool of myself.

"You're a fucking liar," I snarled.

Dakota's eyes sharpened. "Strong words from someone so compromised," he whispered to me.

Before I could wrench myself free and continue to argue with his logic, his grip reached a suffocating degree of pressure. I had no time to cry out or plead; with just a slow close-in between his fingers, he snapped both digits together. And my jaw, once whole, was crushed.

Mobility became just a semblance of my procedural memory, my nerves searing, fucking _searing,_ stabs of absolute agony shooting throughout my face. I stumbled away from Dakota's loosened grip, unable to shout, unable to cry, unable to _speak—_ all I could do was weep.

Dakota approached me again—I knew this only because his footsteps echoed like ominous omens—and he whispered into my ringing ear, "Where's your head? This is all there. A nerve-ending not much different to dying in a dream. You know what to do, Alissa."

My hands were shaking, as blood dripped out of my broken mouth and down my chin. I was wobbling on my feet, my hands were shaking like they belonged to someone far more old than me, my head was screaming for me to say something, do _something,_ anything if it meant release. Relief.

Dakota's words were only partly recognized in my thought frame.

 _This isn't real,_ I chanted, letting my hands reach up and hold both sides of my jaw. Crumbled, shattered, beyond repair. But this wasn't real, and the pain was all an illusion. He was enjoying my suffering, watching with lilting eyes. I was letting him have a free show, when I was meant to be wriggling out answers and searching for a way back home. _This wasn't a part of the plan. Being in agony wasn't a part of the plan._ I knew that, but this was hardly an obstacle I could have foreseen.

I had to close my eyes, because looking at him would make me want to just stay this way and let myself succumb to the imaginary needles jabbing my gums and facial structure from within me.

With one quick jerk, I put my jaw back in its socket.

" _FUCK_!" I screamed. I fell to my knees, holding my jaw. It still ached like absolute Hell, and it still felt like pieces were scattered within the sealed skin. None of it was real, though; my jaw wasn't actually broken. This was all a dream within a dream, an unreality within a tainted realm of consciousness. He was here, and he was plaguing everything he touched, starting with me. I knew the bruises weren't real, and the anxiety he'd caused me from each visit, it was all imagined. Everything he put me through, it wasn't even _real—_ and how can you trust your own mind, or your body, if they're both feeding you lies? "You fucking… _fuck…"_

Dakota's smirk twisted into a smile. Almost genuine, if it weren't for the blood in his eyes.

"You'll wake, and it will hurt. You'll ache, and you'll wish for reprieve," he whispered to me. "Death is liberating, Alissa. Leaving your mortal body to be replaced by something indestructible and beautiful, that is a fate many would kill to have. You and your fiendish wolves, on the other hand—perhaps such a fate is unimaginable. That is why you will die without worth. You'll be _nothing._ "

"You don't know me. You never have," I said quietly, simmering in my anger, my disgust. One could only take so many insults and wrong assumptions before things went to shit and human combustion became logically possible. I breathed in deeply, needing the composure; it had went long enough, this game of wit.

"I know you are a child who hides behind those who protect," said Dakota. He edged near. "Those wolves—their only worth to you is their ability to fight your demons. I know everything about you, Alissa. After all, I've seen your mind."

That's why he could crawl under my skin—why he could prey on my weaknesses and bring them into the light. He knew exactly who I was under the layers of bravado and abrasion. I was naked, mind and all, to him, and there was no possible way I'd ever match his strength.

"We're in your mind at this very moment," he said, coming ever closer. My skin crawled, my body reciprocating movement in the opposite direction. " _Entombed_ here. There's no escape, Alissa. All but one."

 _Death,_ I could imagine him saying. He didn't need to form the word, stress the syllable. He didn't even need to clarify what was going on, where we were. I'd been avoiding labeling my situation, thinking it'd fuck my sanity over in ways I couldn't recover from, but there was no other choice now; I was trapped.

"I'm asleep," I whispered, it dawning on me. Why things felt disillusioned but real, why I was seeing my fears, why Dakota looked and felt less charming. I was in my own head, and so was he; he was able to read me because we were surrounded by my thoughts, memories, and feelings. It made me realize why the air picked up when I pushed my mother's memory through Death's Doors; my mind was a hemisphere unprotected from resolve, and the slightest change in temper would change the environment as well as the setting.

I clenched my fists and focused on everything around me. If my emotions were a tidal wave, then I could exploit them to wake myself up. I was sure if I died in my dream, I'd wake up alive and in pain. _He can't come with me. He's no Freddy Krueger._

"How did you kill her?"

Dakota's marble face made an expression I couldn't place. "Many would not want the details of trivia so gruesome," he said thoughtfully. I stared at him, annoyed that he'd paused, and somehow he must have known I wanted him to continue. "Your mother… she was underneath your father's thumb as though she were an insect. She listened to him readily, cooked for him, dressed him on workdays. She was miserable, I could tell.

"I visited her one day. She wanted to take her life, you see. She had a kitchen knife at the ready, on the mark of her heart. When she saw me, she attempted to finish the task, but as an immortal, she had no chance of completing it. I asked her what had driven her to something so rash. And you know what she said, darling? _'I cannot take it anymore.'"_

 _No._

 _That's not true._

 _She wouldn't._

She wouldn't—she, she wouldn't. She was my _mother._ She loved her husband; she loved me and Jared. She wouldn't just abandon us, especially not when we were children. _Children,_ for fuck's sake. Jared grew up fast. He had to take care of me and our father when I didn't know how to clean or dress myself, when Dad was drinking himself into stupors every night. He fell into depression. It couldn't be because he killed her will to be alive.

He was stern and work-oriented, but he was caring and loving, too. He sobered up after a year spent in exile from his mind, and then he took care of us. We were a family with a gapping void where the middle should have been, what kept us grounded—and stupid, naïve me thought it was because of a fucking sickness. _Dakota can't be telling the truth, it's not possible._

"You're fucking lying to me," I choked through tears.

Dakota's mouth curled into a tight smile, as though he enjoyed my pain. "Am I, darling? Ah, I must remember your father never told you the technicalities behind her death. An ailment—pneumonia, was it? Or cancer. And you believed him instinctively because what does a father have to gain from lying to his children?"

 _You're lying._

" _You_ did it, _you_ killed her," I said. The air picked up suddenly and violently, courtesy of the blind rage as it shot like a falling star through my bloodstream. The setting cracked and shook, turning to something black and sinister, the two of us in an unseeing darkness. "Don't fucking tell me she'd do that when she had kids. You expect me to just believe that? I'm not an idiot."

A light flickered, a shard that turned into something dim and plagued by moonlight; our environment had transformed from a forest floor that led to an oddly-put Death's Doors to a graveyard. Beside me was the tombstone engraved with my mother's name.

"You're the monster, you're the reason everything is so _fucked!_ " I cried, and suddenly my hair was walloping my face, among us terrifying lightning, thunder, and winds. I staggered backward, unable to handle the pressure.

Dakota's charade broke, everything going from calm to ireful in seconds; and then, he was advancing on me. His lip was curled into a glower.

"You blame me? _Me?_ I offered her _life,_ Alissa," snarled Dakota. He circled me violently, a tumultuous force among the tornado winds that kept us stagnated; "She _died_ because Richard was young, _foolish_ , choosing one of the bitterest alternatives imaginable to immortality. She sought death when she knew nothing of the endless possibilities. She did not want a life with you and your father, nor that mutt of a brother. I _know_ what her choice would have been. Your father does, too."

The way he worded it, he made it sound like Mom _wanted_ to be by his side. In his narrative, she took every word from his mouth like water that quenched a heavy, unforeseen thirst, searching for something Dad never could have offered her: _an eternity spent young, beautiful, and unable to feel pain._

She wanted death—or so Dakota's tale went—and was ready to take her own life. But Dakota, a beautiful, indestructible monster, came and offered her a life by his side. If she truly no longer loved Dad or wanted a domestic life, then it was no wonder he nearly took his own. I could not imagine living with the truth that the love of my life didn't reciprocate my love and found it unbearable to put up with me. I could not imagine _Paul_ doing that to me. I couldn't imagine it to him, either.

It was all such a smack in the face, I couldn't even bear thinking it was real. He was _wrong,_ he was a liar, and I was falling apart because of his lies. He was beneath my skin the way he knew he was so, so _very_ capable of doing, preying on my insecurities and my weaknesses, rummaging through those parts of me I kept clamped down like yesterday's bad blood.

A devil on my shoulder, obscured by a veil of hair. Hovering over the controls, as I debated what to do, how to feel, who I was going to be in the next hour. He was everything I avoided, everything I hated, and he knew it, too. That's why he caught me in his trance instead of one of the men on the Council; I was inexperienced and clumsy, a child whose dealt hand was nothing more than immature quips. I was not an opponent; fuck, I wasn't even a target. I was just a game.

"She _wouldn't_ ," I said, but my voice betrayed me. It cracked until a shattered resolve. "I know she wouldn't. You have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

Dakota laughed. The winds picked up, and I was choking on dust and dirt; he was perfectly intact, just as indestructible as he claimed. I felt him grab my jaw and force me to look up at him. I looked into those damning eyes, the blood sending a streamer of horror through me. I gulped down my sobs, letting myself acknowledge what he was about to do, about to say—feeling an _acceptance_ that I was doomed to have my head crushed and my soul compressed down into nothingness. He was powerful in every way, and I was weak, useless by any and all definitions of the word. So useless, so weak, that I was crying in the face of death, imploring that I wouldn't meet such a gruesome end.

Yet here I was, trapped in a dream I couldn't wake up from.

"I did not kill your mother, but I cannot reiterate the same for your grandfather," he whispered. "Like your father, he wanted a mortal life. He was content to be worthless. A tribal advisor, called upon to read from books and recite wise, meaningless words from dead, untactile wolves who fell prey to immortals. I crushed his skull in front of your father when he was young, no older than twenty. When your mother died, he felt that grief tenfold for he had experienced it anew from his father's."

A fucking monster—that's what I was looking at now. An _it,_ who was willing to kill anyone and anything if it meant power. But he himself was no better than my ancestors, if he allowed himself to be changed only for him to be an advisor to a vampiric council. I knew little to nothing about his work, but I did know he was insulting someone that was no different from himself. He was just as worthless.

"You say that when you're just as much of a little bitch," I snarled back at him. He was caught off guard by my words, I could tell from the way his unwrinkled brow raised. "You're no better, Dakota. I know you left and took the bite to become an advisor to a council of monsters just like you. You know what makes you, Dakota? Hm?"

I inhaled deeply. He watched me, and I couldn't read his expression.

" _Worthless,_ " I whispered to him.

There was nothing I could do, nothing I could say, as the grip around my head reached an agonizing, excruciating level of pressure. I screamed and clawed at his paper-white hands, but to no avail. I had given him what I wanted, but it came with a cost I could not escape from—regardless of how good I was at running.

There was a crunch, then nothing. Absolutely nothing.

All that awaited me was a darkness I could not wake from.

Because Dakota had done what I'd provoked him for. He'd done what he had in mind since he first appeared in my mind.

I was reduced to residual bone and brain pulp as Dakota crushed my skull in his bare hands.

* * *

A/N: WELP this is my biggest cliff hanger ever, I think. What did you guys think? Did you like it? Hate it? Hope it kept you on the edge of your seat.

We didn't get a Jared reunion scene but that's mostly because I felt like this was the perfect place to end it. Sorry if that's disappointing.

FEEDBACK HAS BEEN SENSATIONAL, THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH. I HAVE GOTTEN MY MOTIVATION AND MOJO BACK THANKS TO YOU ALL. YOU FUCKING ROCK

I'll be posting much more regularly as long as you guys keep it up with the feedback and critiques.

Until next time :D


	16. Chapter XVI

THE HUMAN CONDITION

Chapter XVI: He'd Be the Moon, Too

/

" **Oh,"** the girl said, shaking her head. "Don't be so simple. People adore monsters. They fill their songs and stories with them. They define themselves in relation to them. You know what a monster is, young shade? Power. Power and choice. Monsters make choices. Monsters shape the world. Monsters force us to become stronger, smarter, better. They sift the weak from the strong and provide a forge for the steeling of souls. Even as we curse monsters, we admire them. Seek to become them, in some ways." Her eyes became distant. "There are far, far worse things to be than a monster."

― Jim Butcher, Ghost Story

/

 **I WAS STARTLED** to be alive when I woke up.

If there was a term for having TV static for memories, that was my brain—hazy, fuzzy, broken. There was a stitch loose, a knot in the rope, that made waking here all a distant picture. All I remembered was dying; nothing directly before and nothing directly after. If I'd gone cataleptic, I had no memory of it. Dakota had gripped my head and crushed it. He'd turned me into a brain slushy. Any sense of pain from dying in my unconscious state was apparently not memorable enough to be there when I woke. I wasn't much of anything. I _think_ I was confused.

I wasn't dead or in immense pain. That was a good reason to be confused. I was in someone's bedroom, evidenced by the posters of rock bands and heap of clothes on the floor, and my hair was tied up into two knots out of my face instead of the mess of unconfined curls it usually was. It looked like my chest gauze was switched out with a new set. I was wearing clothes I distinctly remembered wearing the last time I left my house—and that felt like weeks ago.

I probably smelled awful. When was the last time I showered?

 _Maybe days ago._ I smelt my hair, expecting a distinct, greasy odor. The smell of oil and overworked product. What I got instead was a nothingness. My hair smelt like it was in the day between my last wash and my next.

I was alone in the room, snuggled into a black-and-white duvet. The singers on the bedroom walls, with their spiked hair, annoying black leather get-ups, and teethy grins, were staring straight into my soul, like they wanted to drag me into their circle of groupies. If only they knew where my heart belonged—then they'd steer clear from engaging me with their lust-ridden gazes.

 _Why am I here?_ I decided to stop inspecting the room and think about where I was, how I was there. It was different from the last time I woke up alone in a room. It was different from anytime I was in a room _period_. I wasn't hurt; I was just somewhere I didn't remember the journey to. Someone put me here when I wasn't conscious, and I didn't know who or what could possess them to do so. What's worse was that I didn't remember the build-up of events to now. Anything after getting terrorized by Dakota in school was a blur, with fractions of my leftover memory piecing together to indicate I'd gone to the Archives and sought out my father's help. Everything else was like clouds in a thunderstorm.

But there was something that came out of the woodworks, feeling potent without the framework of memory behind it. A memory that wasn't really a memory, but it felt like one. The thought of it made me shudder, pin-needles of discomfort interweaving into my capillaries.

 _Worthless._

After school, after running to the Archives, after desperately blabbing my experiences to my father, the only memory I had was of Dakota crushing my skull. I remembered thinking I was going to die and feeling like that was just what I'd get, too. I thought of this after I came awake. I was thinking about it again now.

"What the fuck," I muttered to myself, staring up at the ceiling until I knew it wouldn't calm my body back into order. I pushed up onto my elbows. The ball of discomfort in my bloodstream was getting bigger and stronger, until it reached a level of suffocation that couldn't, wouldn't, go away with time. I felt ill.

Maybe the reason I couldn't remember anything was because they were whisked away with Dakota's hands.

 _Fuck_ , I thought. This was serious.

He wasn't just a figment of my imagination anymore, it seemed. He was costing me a lot more than I anticipated—my memories, my lucidity, my perception of reality.

Without knowing what happened before he killed me, I was at a disadvantage and I didn't know how I could obtain my memories back, regardless of whether they were from a dream. Dakota was just smarter than me. He'd been at an advantage since I first matured into my powers.

And that's what scared me most.

It was then, when I looked over at the nightstand in search of a focal point to get a sense of peace restored into my nerves, that I noticed a piece of paper just lounging on the wood. A jolt of surprise went through me. Someone—maybe who brought me here—had left a note.

My muscles ached from long-term disuse, but I managed to get a hand on the paper when I reached over. I unwrinkled it and began to read:

 _Alissa,_

 _I know you're probably confused. If I were in your situation I know I would be. You passed out in your father's office and we took you here so you could recover. We're all waiting for you in the living room. If you need more time to get your head back on, just say so. We'll understand._

 _With love,_

 _Sue_

Thoughts, assumptions, flitted through my mind. I was at Sue's house, and I had a heaping suspicion I was in Leah's bedroom, hence the dark walls and dark accents. Lost in a space that reeked of anger, not that you could tell by the sunshine leaking through the blinds. It looked and felt like a teenage girl's room, younger than me, more angsty than me, and Leah was the oldest and most emotionally-tumultuous between the two of us.

Last I was here, it wasn't Leah's room I stayed in. It was Sue's _guest_ room. It made no sense to be here, in Leah's room. I was more anxious than I'd been in a bland, non-personalized atmosphere. Sue was the kind, gentle nurse who nurtured wounds back to full-health for everyone on the reserve, and she'd been my pseudo-caretaker more times than I could count digits, but being here still felt unfamiliar. I felt like I was invading something personal. I knew what I was and I knew why I felt this way. I was scatterbrained and mentally fucked. Nothing could heal those aches unless my memory was conjoined anew.

My brain was utter mush and I felt like there was nothing for me to do except take baby steps to gather the pieces back together.

 _Fuck_. A painful tickle crisscrossed over the length of my throat. I swallowed, thinking I could evade the feeling if saliva lapped over and soothed it. I didn't want to be wracked with heaves until my ribcage felt like it was puncturing my organs—especially when I was still processing my situation. Apparently, though, my thoughts on the matter didn't matter.

I fell into a sudden sneezing-coughing fit that left my innards in places not logically-thought possible. Each new cough resulted in a new one, and between coughs the tickle would travel my mucus chamber until my nose had to save itself from the feathery sensation through violently flushing it out, and eventually I thought about how I'd rather die than stay in a loop of flu symptoms.

My throat was raw by the time the fit stopped. Tears were stinging my eyes because of the painful exertion it took to cough and sneeze at least twenty or so times in a row. Fuck. Just fuck. I felt like crying: out of frustration; out of anger; out of confusion.

 _Bang!_

The door slamming open was all it took for my back to snap into perfect posture, tears be damned.

"Alissa," said Paul.

"Paul," Alissa said— _wait, that's me._ That was me. I said that.

But there was a correlation in the way we'd individually spoken to each other. Even the paralanguage was identical. I felt this fervent need to match him tit for tat, just as strongly as I felt a need to take him in my arms and reassure myself he was real.

"I thought that was you up here choking like a fucking smoker," he said, quirking a weak and forced smile up at me. I returned the smile, motioning with a hand for him to come closer.

Paul easily complied, the tension in his face relaxing the closer he got, until he was standing by my bedside and I skimmed his body language for the panic it'd expunged.

"I think some dust got up my nose or something," I said back, wrinkling said appendage in distaste. I reached out for his wrist. I wasn't sated until he easily relented his arm to me, allowing me to touch and prod at his wrist until I could assert to myself I actually was in his presence right then, safe and in a moment that wouldn't end abruptly. Paul watched my actions silently, a looming cloud of heat that distracted me from the unharmonious cold seeping through my head.

"Jared's downstairs," he said, and he pulled away from me to go over to Leah's messy desk in the corner to grab a chair. He came back and placed it beside me, subsequently sitting down in it. "Thought you'd want to know that before you come down. If you come down."

I didn't feel as angry as I expected. Even hearing my brother's name, which used to provoke me in ways nothing else ever could, just went over my head. It was a staggering feat, really, to know I'd lost all my ire and wrath. I couldn't pinpoint a direct cause, unless I was just sluggish and liable to denying it.

"That's fine," I said, exteriorly unfazed, a outward image of me pretending he didn't just raise his eyebrows. Internally was a whole other story. Damned man, looking at me like that—like I was a whole new person for not throwing hissy fits twenty-four-seven. I could be calm. I didn't have to be violent all the time.

 _Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,_ I thought.

It was definitely the fatigue putting me out of my element. There was no other excuse to be this pleasant.

Paul shook his head at me. "This might get a different reaction out of you," he said, smirking at me. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the door. "He wants to talk."

I rolled my eyes. "Paul, I'm tired and feel like shit. No matter what you do, or what you say, I'm chill."

"Whatever you say, princess," he muttered, but his words didn't match his eyes. His expression dipped into something more thorough, more solemn. He leaned closer to me, his elbows digging into his shorts, and I knew with a leap in heartbeat that whatever he wanted to say, it was not something I wanted to hear. "Why did you go to your Dad first about the bloodsucker and not me?"

What a question. I didn't know if I could even answer it, to be honest.

Or maybe I could, and thinking I couldn't was just a way to deny responsibility for my behavior.

I tilted my head away from Paul.

"You're not much older than me," I said to him, caressing the bedpost with the right side of my face. I couldn't look him directly in the eye, and if he caught my inter-channel discrepancy, I didn't care. "We're both pretty new to this. Dad's been kicking 'bloodsucker' ass for over two decades. I took my chances on who to turn to."

Not to mention I felt tongue-tied when I _did_ have my chance.

"You looked like you wanted to say something at school," Paul said accusingly, pinpointing the very event I had in mind. I knew there was nothing I could say to look innocent so I just blinked at him, not speaking at all. "And don't think I didn't notice you flinch when I touched you. I heard from your Dad you think he hurt you. I'm not that dumb, Alissa. I can put two and two together. Sam told me all there is to know about Dakota when I first phased."

Paul was a lot smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for, and it was always part of what attracted me to him. He had this knack for coming to plausible conclusions that I could never match. I truly let myself be fooled into thinking Dakota was in my dreams entirely, that he'd left bruises, that he locked my jaw when it came time to spill the truth.

There was something about Dakota that all human reason couldn't explain. It was steadily becoming clearer to me that all these changes in character, this filtered mouth, the black and blue marks I "covered" with concealer—they weren't accountable by a self-carved narrative, regardless of how real and natural they'd first appeared.

 _Fuck._

I kept saying that. It was becoming more habit than something reactional.

"If that's the case, then you know he's a manipulative piece of shit," I said slowly. "And you know he can read thoughts. Plug thoughts. Turn daisies into fucking bats. That sort of thing. Ya know?"

From the corner of my eye I saw Paul shake his head. I heard him let out a scoff. "It's not about what he can do or how he does it, Alissa. It's about you putting yourself at risk. Why the fuck do you do that when you know you're not invincible?"

I flimsily tossed my head to the right, glancing up at Paul to see the exhausted, fretful expression on his face. That was the last straw. I dug my elbows back into the pillows, using what little strength I had to cup my hands into fists and use them as tools to raise myself into a sitting position. I felt more eye level with Paul when I finally managed it. He was still taller, but we could hold each other's gaze much easier and I felt calmer just by being this much closer.

"Let's just leave it all behind us," I said, reaching out for his hand. It was a small victory, one I internally whooped and hollered for, when he didn't fight off my fingers from interlacing into his own. "I can start all over, right? Be a newer, calmer person. I'm sorry for being crazy and irrational. I'll stop now."

Paul rolled his eyes. "You'd have to be tranquilized before that ever happened," he muttered, in this sarcastic voice I adored him for.

 _God_ , I missed him. I missed the little things. I missed our banter and I missed how easily conversation fell between us. It felt like we were handmade for one another, but I knew if I told him that, he'd gloat about it for weeks. And he'd tell me I was foolish to believe in fairy-tales.

I didn't. I wasn't that kind of girl. But in moments like this, even if just for a fleeting second, I let myself think I was.

"You love it," I said, my mouth falling into the first genuine smile I'd had since being awake. I couldn't tell who made the first move—whether it was me leaning deeper into his warmth or him when he reciprocated my smile—but we both fell together like we were magnetized, an attraction that desired a lure of the same voltage.

A cough from in the doorway had us freeze just millimeters away from making contact, and a deep, painful feeling of frustration struck me. It died away when my eyes connected with Jared's.

 _Fuck_. There came that word again. I used the word often and severely, for situations in and out of panic. This time, I recognized it as a reaction to my nerves. A deep-set unease that went unsated when I knew within a second of realizing who it was at the doorway I would be having that "talk" I'd tried avoiding. So soon after trauma, I didn't know if I could handle it—especially if Jared mentioned any of the things he'd done I kept clamped down out of fear of crying.

"Hey," he muttered now, after spending over half a minute just staring between Paul and I, no doubt overthinking our anything-but-innocent proximity. I wondered if he knew anything about our relationship, or if he'd been kept in the dark deliberately so that I would be the one who broke the news. By his nervous expression, I knew none of it mattered. Even if he was curious, he wouldn't ask until we either made up or he fell back into good graces with Paul.

"Hey," Paul said for the both of us, giving my hand a tight squeeze. He leaned the rest of the way over and gave me a quick, none-too-appeasing kiss on the forehead. It didn't satisfy me in the way I knew a kiss on the lips, or even the cheeks, would, but I let the warmth of his mouth wash over me—and I let myself think about how he could kiss me as many times as I wanted once we were past our current conflicts.

Once Dakota was defeated and Jared was back in my life, Paul and I could easily have that relationship I'd fantasized about and thought impossible for years. It wasn't infeasible, as it once was. I now understood him as a fiercely protective, impossibly funny, loving and thoughtful guy and I knew he'd do anything if it meant keeping me by his side. It was crazy to imagine life without him now. I knew if I wanted to keep him there it meant shifting my attitude. And after going so long playing the "bitch" role and desperately vying for affection from anyone if it meant pissing off my brother, I knew I was immature. It was a wonder Paul didn't see me for the child I was.

I smiled up at Paul, basking in the sparks his kiss left on my skin. "When I come downstairs, you can know everything," I muttered, failing to mention just how little I knew myself. I refused to admit how badly my memories were affected, that my head ached from unknown narratives I'd been the primary actress in. "Dad'll drag it out of me at some point, anyway."

Paul nodded, the hand holding mine squeezing like it never wanted to let go. Touching me like I was oil and he was a capitalizer. Like anything with a time limit, though, he had to let go regardless. I felt just how badly he didn't want to leave.

Our fingers detached from one another and he stood from Leah's tiny desk chair. I watched him meet Jared at the doorway, the two of them sharing a look. Paul muttered something in his ear, sneaking a glance in my direction, and maybe it would have mattered more if I wasn't so focused on staring at his backside. For someone so feverishly warm and furry, he sure left his clothes on an awful lot around me.

I let the lust in me scatter into empty corners once Paul had left the room. There was just a hollow void, only intensifying when Jared replaced Paul in Leah's chair.

"It's been a while," was the first thing he said. He eyed me nervously. I knew he was worried I'd explode and he'd have to feel guilt ten times over the original dosage. I remembered what our Dad said when he was angry. He said Jared had run off and not come back. In that statement was the obvious truth that I'd sentenced him to be faulted for something I caused. Even if it was his claws that damaged me, the damage was all self-inflicted. I wished I could make him see that. Fuck, I knew I was the one who deserved to feel horrible. And I did feel horrible. But Jared did too.

We were both in this concurrent sort of post-decisional dissonance that kept us both remorseful and stagnated, stuck in the past, unwilling to come face-to-face. Now that we were here, I wasn't angry anymore. I had come to terms with things and I knew the facts now.

Jared hurt me. He'd done several things I used to think were irredeemable. He dropped me because he didn't want to be best friends with his sister anymore. He made Paul stop coming around because he didn't want us dating and thought the guy was a violent maniac. He would literally put an end to any dates I wanted to go on before they started. For fuck's sake, the bastard thought I was annoying. He broke our pact.

It had been a while indeed.

"'Together forever until the grass is blue and pigs fly high,'" I said, quoting the very pact we made after our Mom died. Jared's shoulders stiffened and his back went pin-straight, his eyes flickering away from mine. "I get it, Jared. No one in their right mind would want to be besties with their little sister. Their _annoying_ little sister."

He didn't reply for several seconds, but there was enough movement in his jaw that I knew he was thinking hard about my words. Maybe he was even processing all that'd we been through together, all the memories we let get clouded over by new ones with different faces. He'd been the one to hold and comfort me when Mom died, but he'd also been the one to push the guy I loved away and make me bitter. He moved on with Sam's pack and Kim, not bothering to rekindle our connection before starting down a new path. He was several miles ahead of me, so far away it was hard to think he was even relevant anymore. I knew he was, but he'd left me in the dark. The only way he kept me in his life was by sabotaging any chances I took at distraction.

I used to wonder if it was a subtle revenge for all the times his friends poked fun at him for being friends with his little sister. I still wondered. I still suspected. He had shitty friends before he phased. Paul was the only decent one, and he'd been sentenced to watch me from afar.

The last time Jared showed me he really cared was three years ago when he beat William Holton into a bloody pulp. After that, he grew more and more distant until the start of this school year when he cut me out completely.

And that lead Paul to cut me out, too.

Dakota was the only thing that should have been relevant. He was the threat, the danger, the monster under my bed. But the momentary promise of shelter caught me in a trance of anger and remorse, and with Jared immobilized in the very seat Paul used to sit, I felt like it was only right to find another right to a wrong.

I was as tired of being angry as I was of running.

Caught in my doubts and ruminating in a dark study, I was violently shaken from it by Jared shifting in his seat and saying, "There's really no excuse for any of it. I know that. I thought I could find the words to say before I shifted. I've had weeks and weeks to come up with something now, but I just don't know, Alissa. I know we made the pact. I know I broke it. I don't know how to fix any of this. I just know if Dakota kills you, I—" He abruptly cut himself off, sucking in a sharp breath of oxygen and releasing it in one swift motion. "I'd never be able to forgive myself."

I sniffed, fighting off a swell of tears. "You could apologize," I snapped at him. "You could say, 'I'm sorry.' Say something, anything."

"I am sorry!" he snapped right back. "Of course I'm fucking sorry. I hurt you so bad, Alissa. I am so, so, _so_ sorry for it. You'll never understand how bad I feel about it. I'm sorry I broke our pact. I'm sorry I didn't let you date. I'm sorry I cut you out and stopped coming around. I'm sorry for scarring you. I'm sorry, alright? Sorry about everything. And, I just—look at you and Paul. You're _imprints_ , for fuck's sake! And I pushed you away from him. I _told_ him to stay away from you. I didn't protect you like I promised I would. I'm a horrible brother and I'm _sorry_."

I felt like I'd been struck by his words. He sounded half-broken, and maybe it was him with the circuit loose and not me. I remembered feeling that way around Paul so long ago, when being around him got me flustered and stammer-prone and stupid. Jared's apologies came out fast and thoughtless. Listening to them made me feel like I needed a decoder just to understand a semblance of what he'd said.

After staring at him for what felt like an eternity, things made sense to me. My eyes widened.

 _I'm sorry for hurting you._

 _You and Paul are imprints._

 _I'm sorry I broke our pact._

 _I told him to stay away from you._

 _I'm a horrible brother and I'm sorry._

 ** _I'm sorry_.**

"Imprints?" I repeated, the only thing he'd said that didn't make complete sense to me.

Jared froze. He shook his head. He mouthed what looked like " _Shit_ " to himself and he put up his hands in a defensive motion. " _Please_ , Alissa. Don't ask about it right now. I need to... we need to talk this out. It's killing me. Please."

In any other situation, I wouldn't think twice about disregarding his request and demanding answers. But this was Jared. After so long without holding a meaningful conversation, without a sentiment of love echoing between the syllables, I craved just a second of clarity for our relationship. Before Dakota came and enacted a final revenge, I at least wanted something to be righted, even if it was an amended love between me and my brother. Something I never thought could be repaired.

"Okay," I said, nodding slowly.

Jared let out a breath of relief, but the lack of tension didn't last long. It returned as a full assault and I was forced to watch Jared swallow deeply and close his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he quietly said, "I've been sick with guilt, Alissa."

That was all he said. I shifted on the bed a little, feeling fidgety without sound. "Why?"

"Dad explained it was your powers, but it didn't feel that way when it happened," Jared said, and I realized with a jolt what he was referencing. "It felt like my inner wolf was clawing to get out. I was angry, and I never get angry. I was ready to kill whatever was in my way when I phased. It wasn't until I was baring my teeth at you, and you were unconscious and bleeding and just so fucking pale lying on the ground, I realized what I'd done, and I couldn't stay, I couldn't breathe. I, I fucking ran.

"I think I stayed in the woods for three or four days. Sam came and got me eventually. He told me I could stay with him if I still couldn't face you. I took him up on that. And even if it's been over a week, it hurts to think about. I keep picturing you in my head that way, bloody and half-dead. It makes me feel like a monster."

I shuddered at his words. No one had talked to me about that night so vividly. Our father called me reckless and told me I was immature, but he didn't paint the image of what I looked like on the ground. I knew that they'd called Sue and had to keep pressure on the wound because it was bleeding so much, but it never occurred to me I looked _dead_. I had felt guilty for forcing Jared to shift, but it reached a peak now. All that sudden anger I felt towards him because of our past evaporated. All of it paled in comparison to me forcing him to hurt me. Leaving him with a lifetime of guilt and me a permanent embellishment of scars.

"Jared, you know it was my fault, right?" I asked him tentatively. He just stared at me, all this guilt and self-disgust brewing there. "Jared, I don't have any control. I've just been so... _angry_ since you broke our pact. I didn't even know what I was until that night." I raised up my hand, showing him the moon tattooed into my palm. "I wasn't thinking clearly. I just... I'm sorry. I did this to me. You didn't do anything."

Jared's gaze wasn't on my tattoo; it was on my shirt, where the scars were hidden underneath. "It was still my claws that made you bleed," he murmured.

"I don't fucking care about that, Jared," I snapped. He jumped in surprise. "All I care about is you apologizing. And not about scarring me. I just wanted to know you still cared about me. I thought you didn't give a fuck about hurting me mentally."

"I've felt guilty since I had my first shift," he said through a sigh. "I used to think it was uncool to be friends with my sister but... you get me in a way Paul and Kim can't. You're like my twin. Not having you around has sucked majorly."

I nodded in agreement. "I love you, Jared," I said, knowing I meant it. It'd been months... fucking months since I'd told him that. I knew if I died or he died without me getting to say that one last time I'd live an afterlife of regrets. "You suck for not coming to apologize sooner, but I still love you."

Jared looked like he might have cried. "I love you too, Alissa," he said, so quietly I almost didn't hear. "I'm sorry for not coming sooner."

I didn't want to fall into another silence. "Me and Paul are dating," I told him nonchalantly, a shard of urgency flooding through me. He mentioned imprints. The concept sounded familiar and I knew it was important I got the facts. _But you're talking and not yelling and this feels so soothing compared to the Hell you've been through._ The voice was right. "We love each other a lot."

Really, I didn't know if Paul loved me as much as I loved him but if there was an award for putting words in somebody else's mouth, I would have been a prize-winner by then.

"That's good," said Jared, and his smile seemed genuine. I hoped it was genuine. Paul was his best friend; if he didn't approve, that would put a huge rift between Paul and me. "Do you... do you remember anything from when you were out? Dad mentioned Dakota's been targeting you."

I glanced at the door. "I don't remember much," I said honestly. "But maybe Dad can help me remember."

Jared nodded. "If it makes you feel any better, Sam's been working nonstop to track him down," he said. "When we find him, we'll kill him."

It wasn't the best conciliation, but I knew it was Jared's attempt at reassuring me. I took it without intentionally gunning for strife.

"We should go downstairs," I whispered. I continued staring at the door. I was worried about what was going to come from telling them I didn't know much aside from dying. I didn't want them to think I was next to useless. They wouldn't tell me shit then, and I was the one out of them at the most risk. "Shit is crazy right now."

Jared laughed. "You've got that right." I raised up my arms and didn't protest when he stood from his chair to help lift me out of the bed. The covers slipped right off and I held my balance once my toes touched the rough, rust-red carpet.

Jared said nothing when I grabbed onto his arm for stability. He just helped lead me out of the room. He had his hand on the small of my back as he reached the stairs, and he was a needed shadow when I walked—no, _shambled_ my way down the steps. I felt flat-footed. I knew my inability to walk straight was thanks to being unconscious for God-knows-how-long, but I couldn't help but critique how I was walking. It was annoying I had to rely on Jared for assistance.

 _Jared this, Jared that_. It felt shocking to have him present in my narrative again.

I tried not asking myself how long it would last.

My father was the first person I noticed when we made it to the living room, and he looked surprised to see me willingly standing next to Jared. "Alissa," he greeted. That was all he said.

I surveyed the room, seeing Embry on the loveseat, Sam standing by the wall, Sue and Harry standing together with my father, Paul up on his feet heading towards me. _Paul up on his feet heading towards me._ Jared released me from his grasp and I fell into Paul, giving him as tight an embrace as I possibly could.

"Where's everyone else?" I asked, not a question to any particular person. I pulled away from my boyfriend, _fucking boyfriend_ , to look around the room again. I didn't see Old Quil or Billy anywhere.

"Other business to attend to," Dad said simply and he motioned for me to sit down. I did so reluctantly, pulling Paul into the open seat of the couch with me. "Do you remember what happened, Alissa?"

Straight to the point. I almost damned him for it.

"No," I said, shaking my head. This was it—admitting something I still didn't understand and couldn't imagine myself ever understanding. "I don't even know what happened, Dad. All I... well, all I really remember is coming here."

"Anything after that?" he prompted, desperation tinged into his eyes, his cheekbones, his mouth—fuck, everything. Even his damned paralanguage was sprinkled with it.

I hesitated. "Well..." Everyone's looks sent me into a tizzy of anxiety. I wasn't used to being this out of my element. Warmth suddenly enveloped my hand and I looked down, shocked to see Paul holding my hand. I let the feeling of him touching me manifest as strength. "Dakota killed me."

It was like everyone in the room took a collective breath. Dad blinked. "He can't kill you," he said. "If you die out of reality, you die in reality, too."

"I thought the same," I said, but truly, I didn't know what I thought. I hoped I wasn't lying. "But he did kill me. He crushed my skull. And Dad, I think—I think he didn't do it with killing me in mind. I think he did it to shake my memories."

"It would explain why you can't remember anything," he said musingly, but he didn't look convinced.

"I don't know what he said to me. I don't know what he did to me," I said insistently. "He just fucking killed me and that's all I have to go off in my brain, okay? I don't know what you expect me to say. It's not like my memories are gonna come back like Surprise! This isn't some miracle, sappy sudden-recall bullshit."

Dad shook his head, ignoring the way I was looking at him. He leaned back into Harry and Sue's television stand. "Dakota was in your head. He may have manipulated your memories so you only think what he wants you to think."

He didn't. I knew that wasn't it. He made me feel crazy, but I wasn't crazy, I was sane; Dakota killed me—

"You have not done your reading, boy," cut a deep, ominous voice through the deep strain that Dad had cast between us. "You know less about Dakota than your own daughter does."

No one other than my Dad and I even flinched. The two of us glanced at the kitchen doorway, where Taha Aki stood, standing dressed in traditional garb and looking as weathered and tired as he'd last looked, when we talked all those days ago. It shocked me to see him here, when I was little more than a burden for the tribe. I was sure Dad had told him to avoid further contact with me.

"She isn't the only one to be fucking tortured by that monster," Dad said in the most violent and cold tone I'd ever heard from him. I noticed Sue and Harry sharing bewildered looks. The shapeshifters in the room just looked at me, as though I had all the answers. "You know him better than us all. You were the only one he told when he ran away from home."

"That does not make me the most knowledgeable of his psyche," said Taha Aki. "Dakota is a complex creature. When he left tribal land, he lost all contact with me. I only felt the full connection snap when I felt him change."

He ran away from home.

Dad scowled at Taha Aki and looked over at me, his gaze cutting through me like a knife. "Dakota will continue trapezing through your head until he kills you," he snapped. The tone and volume made me flinch. "He'll hunt you down and kill anyone else that gets in his way. He's a fucking parasite. He'll drive you mad until you crave the immortal life he offers you."

"You need to act on the offensive," said Taha Aki. No one understood who we were talking to, why our emotions flickered between anger, fear, and indignation. "You know what he is, Richard. He does not wait for action from the enemy."

Dad's scowl deepened and he looked over at Sam. "You've been tracking him," he said brusquely. There was no question, only a demand for elaboration.

Sam nodded, not even questioning who Dad had even been talking to. "I've been tracking him through the hillside," he explained. "I found him camped out in the Forks area, closer to the reserve than I'm comfortable with. It might explain how he's able to get access of minds so easily."

Dad nodded. "He has to be close."

"He is taunting you," Taha Aki said, his words mellow but his face hard. Wrinkled with worry lines. "He will continue to terrorize Alissa, until he has her submit or drives her into insanity. It is what he does to every fledgling from his descendent line. It is his cruel idea of an initiation."

"Shut the fuck up before I destroy your remains and leave you as nothing but a tribal story," my father said, voice no lower than a growl. I understood, suddenly, where I got my mouth from—and my temper. "He killed my father to make a show of who he was and what he wanted. My father was fascinated by him, and he repaid him by driving him into madness. It's what he does. He doesn't taunt; he acts. I'll be damned if I let him kill anyone else in my family."

"Is there anyone else he'd go after besides me?" I asked quietly, partially terrified of the amount of anger I felt in the room. It was suffocating, to be honest.

"No," Dad said. It was simple, to the point, curt. "Dakota's only interested in anyone who has a higher chance than normal to possess powerful abilities if they turn. Emissaries are unique to the supernatural. They can communicate with the dead and project the same spirits like defensive and offensive shields."

I nodded, motioning for my father to continue. Taha Aki watched him silently. I could easily see from here he wasn't happy with what Dad was saying.

"Dakota... was rare," Dad said finally. "He—"

 _My father told me I was unique. Out of everyone of our ancestors, they all had the same gifts. Even my grandfather was nothing out of the ordinary. Father thought I was dormant for the longest time. I was meant to receive my gift from the Moon when I was sixteen. The Moon waited for my eighteenth birthday to make everyone blur together in a vast array of hues. I looked at my brother and knew in my bones he was going to run away into the woods with his lover from another tribe that Father disapproved of. Father called my gifts a blessing. It came to our awareness I could read auras of everyone I met. I knew future directions for their paths before even they knew what they wished to do._

 _Father called it a blessing but I knew his doubts. My brother was the one who could take shape of the Moon's calling_.

I blinked, blinked, blinked until the room came back into focus. I felt myself trembling. No one was paying me attention except for Paul, and he was just rubbing his thumb over my knuckles in an up-and-down motion. Aside from him, not a soul could tell I was paralyzed.

"—His father died—" Dad continued, as if nothing ever happened to me. I was thrust back into darkness.

 _"Mother," I whispered, bracing a hand against the doorpost of her bedroom. Her figure was invisible in the darkness, but I heard her choking and sobbing from within. She'd been there for three nights, drying her tears on the quilt her and Father shared. After his funeral, she had come here. She had not eaten since his death. "Mot—"_

 _"Go away," she screamed, a choke in her words._

 _I went away, only to find her there again in the morning_.

"—He ran away from home—"

 _"Rough night?"_

 _I was on my third canister of whiskey when the man sitting beside me in the saloon asked his question. I drowned down the contents enough to make a thirst clench my throat into nubs, and I turned to look at him. The man staring back at me was inhumanely beautiful. I felt his aura. It was deceiving. It felt warm and cold. Looking at him in general felt like drowning._

 _He had these beautiful eyes I could not stop deciphering for how unnatural they were. They were the color of crimson. If I were not lush, I might have questioned them._

 _Instead I told him, "Yes. And yourself?"_

 _The unearthly man in black smiled. "Not tonight."_

"No one ever saw him again," Dad said.

 _The inhumanely beautiful man pushed my head deeper into a pillow, my vision blurry from within an inebriated haze. I moaned, letting out a short-lived scream in response to him nipping at my shoulder._

 _"You like that, huh?" he purred, finding a strip of skin on my bare neck and pulling it into his mouth._

 _"God, yes," I said, pushing through a tremor induced by his touch._

 _His only response was to push me over and capture my mouth in an Earth-shattering kiss that numbed me from vessels to bone_.

"Alissa, are you okay?" Paul said suddenly.

 _I awoke bruised and battered, unable to move my legs. The room around us was destroyed. When I looked at the stranger who had so callously ruined me now, his aura was only cold._

 _The beautiful man was dressing himself in his shadowed suit, tucking in his shirt when he saw my movement._

 _"What is your name?" I slurred, voice weak._

 _His smile had a pair of lethal incisors, but I did not feel threatened by them. Beautiful, I thought. He was as beautiful as Daphne and just as poisonous._

 _"Roman," the crimson-eyed man said._

 _"Jesus, she looks like she's having a fucking seizure," Jared cursed, moving to my side._

 _"I'm Dakota," I said._

 _Roman's smile widened. "I know who you are," he said. He crouched beside me and picked up a loose curl that had fallen in my eyes, twirling it around his finger. "Do you know who I am?"_

 _I mouthed, "No."_

 _I could not move._

 _The beautiful man leaned until his mouth was on my ear. "I am Roman, and your blood sings to me, Dakota."_

 _I knew everyone's movements before they enacted them but nothing could have prepared me for the beautiful, peculiar man sinking his teeth into my neck_.

"Alissa," Paul said, bringing me into his arms and trying his best to get my attention. I saw him, but I didn't care; I was in and out of darkness, submerged one moment and gasping for air the next.

 _I sensed a sinister power in Roman, and I knew what he was from when I first saw his eyes._

 _Vampire._

 _My father had warned me of their kind. He had an inexplicable fear for what they were capable of. After I fled my home, I unshackled myself from Father's expectations and Mother's burdensome grief._

 _I was not afraid of the Unknown. The Unknown should have been afraid of me._

I felt a snap in the threads tying me back into my consciousness and I fell completely back into Paul's warm, hard side. I trembled and heaved, feeling disconnected from reality—more disconnected than I ever had. _Who what how why where_ were flitting through my head, disastrously out of order. It registered, then, just what that was.

"Dakota," I said, shaking Paul's arm. He grabbed onto my own arm in a futile attempt to stop me, and I ignored his attempts to force composure back into my body. "Dakota, oh my God—it came to me, when you talked, Dad, what you and Taha Aki said—oh my fucking God, he was _human_ once."

Everyone was crowded around me on the couch, I noticed with alarm. I must have been out of it for a while because Sue was dabbing a cloth at my mouth where drool had dribbled out with a compress lying uselessly in her lap and both Paul and Jared were closer than I usually let anyone, both of them trying to reassure me through their hands. I ignored it, using their silence as the only opportunity I'd get to put the pieces together.

 _Dakota. Roman._

"Of course he was human once," my father said, ignoring the sharp look Sue sent him for his callousness. "We don't know the specifics about his change, but we do know what may have prompted him to leave."

"But I do," I blurted out, Dakota's memories swirling around in my head. It wasn't me living through them. Even if they felt like my memories, they weren't—they were his. From before he was changed. From when he was human and he had feelings and there was nothing left to lose for him. "I just saw something. I saw memories. His memories."

No one believed me. I saw it in their faces. Jared and Paul looked concerned for me and my father, he was angry for reasons I couldn't make into harmonious words.

"What do you mean by that, Alissa?" asked Sam, pushing up from off the wall to be closer to me. He was the only one not crowding the couch, and I only saw him when I craned my head over Sue's fretting, crouched figure. He had that deep, analytical gaze I saw him with almost constantly, the kind that made me wonder just how easily he could see through me.

"I told you he killed me," I started, gripping Paul's arm and the armrest of the couch to keep myself from swaying. I was woozy from what had just happened, and words could not explain the feelings going through me. Nothing made sense. "Well, I think something... happened when he killed me. I think... I think he accidentally gave me some of his memories."

Like a chain-reaction, everyone's backs went pin-straight, a suction of breath whooshing back into their windpipes. My father was the only one who didn't look bewildered or surprised. He continued to look a sweltering shade of angry.

"He had to have been incredibly, incredibly emotional to have let you take pieces of his memories. Vampires have much stronger guards than we do. It's impossible to penetrate them without experience, and even then the most proficient of us fail," he said slowly, like he couldn't even begin to see the logic in my suggestion. I knew it sounded crazy, I knew it made no sense compared to what they knew about Dakota and what I'd been told before—but I knew what I saw. And what I saw was snippets of his life. It all started when it was mentioned that he ran away from home.

I don't know that vampire he was with. _Roman_. Even thinking his name sent shudders through me. He was beautiful—alarmingly so. Wavy brown hair, translucent white skin, a symmetrically angled jaw, arms coiled in muscles, and most strange of all— _crimson eyes_. They had sex. I felt his pain and ecstasy. Everything he felt, I felt. Everything he thought, I thought. It felt like I was there right with him.

My father was wrong.

"No, you're wrong," I repeated the sentiment, looking him in the eye. "The memory was like nothing he's ever said or shown to me. I saw his Mom and Dad. I saw him in a saloon. He was drinking and this guy named Roman came up to him, and they chatted, and then they had sex, and then Roman bit him—"

"Roman?" The blood had drained from Dad's face.

"Yeah, Roman," I said, stressing his name.

"Roman," Dad repeated, blinking like he couldn't believe it. Like my words were just grains of incomputable diction and he was taking one short step at a time to process them. I saw both Harry and Sue share looks, Sue's hand with the compress frozen on my cheek. "I know Roman. He's been here before."

"In La Push? Not just Forks?" I asked, searching for any indication they were lying to me. If I remembered correctly, vampires weren't allowed on La Push territory because of the agreement they came to centuries and centuries ago. Knowing a vampire had came over the treaty line and they hadn't killed him alarmed me. "Why didn't you kill him?"

"Roman came when I was just a child to ask the tribe for permission to use his abilities in a magic show down in Forks," my father said, ignoring the sputters that came from my mouth. Whatever I'd anticipated as a reason to come in front of a council, it hadn't been to talk about fucking magic. "He called it 'hypnosis.' My father went to see the show and found that he was using cognitive manipulations to make crowd participants do what he wanted."

Paul, who had been sitting by my side and caressing my hand, suddenly surged his torso forward, a look of bafflement on his face. "Someone had to have changed, then," he said abrasively, and his words confused me. Someone had to have changed; _what? What does that even mean?_ "He came through La Push. That's wolf territory. That's how the gene triggers."

I didn't know that. It never occurred to me that they had changed specifically because of vampires. They called themselves protectors. I thought it was just protection of the tribe and tribal lands. It never once went through my mind to call them vampire killers.

My father nodded along in agreement with Paul's words, his eyes dancing around Sue and Harry but not the men in the room who had shifted. "Many of the men from my generation are dormant," he explained, his words slipping over my head. I found them bewildering. "We had one member, Dorian, who changed upon Roman coming to discuss terms with us but... he died in a bar fight before any of you were born."

A bar fight. What an interesting way for a shapeshifter to die.

"So Billy is human? And Quil? And Paul's Dad? And Harry? And Sam's Dad?" I jabbed a thumb and pointed it at everyone I looked at, everyone I referenced.

Dad nodded his head. "They each have the gene, but during their age of maturity, it didn't activate. Many of the kids from your generation have changed because of their interactions with the Cullens and recently Dakota."

I nodded, absorbing this information as much as I could. It was hard to believe anything he said when none of it made the most sense. Everything was entirely new and having to understand it all after being unconscious for so long and going through a Hell I didn't remember, things were a lot harder than they'd normally be.

"I think Roman's the one who changed him," I whispered.

Dad shook his head. "That is impossible. Roman is a wanderer, he doesn't stick to a single coven."

For a split moment, I debated if my father was delusional and refused to believe anything outside of what felt comfortable. Roman said Dakota's blood sang to him. I could feel more memories swirling in me, untampered and unexplored, and foolishly I craved to see them.

But they needed to be activated somehow, it seemed—Dad and Taha Aki's words sucked me into memory after memory because they'd mentioned Dakota. They mentioned things from his past he'd somehow transferred to my own head. Taha Aki's ghost had disappeared and he was the only one who truly knew what was going on, but I couldn't let that dissuade me from pursuing knowing more about the monster we needed to kill.

"Say something," I said, looking at Dad pointedly. "Say... _fuck_ , I don't know. Say 'change,' I guess."

Dad shook his head, saying, "Alissa, I don't know what is going through your head right now but you—"

" _Just say it!_ " I shouted at him.

Dad's lips fell into a tight line. Then he muttered, "Change."

I blinked and I was gone from Sue's living room.

 _"You could be immortal," whispered Roman._

 _The man I laid with had turned out to be a monster, but he was a monster with pleasurable hands and a beautiful brain. I refused his offer many times. If he asked me to lay with him again, I would not deny him. His proposal to turn me into what he was did not settle well._

 _My blood sang to him. Being mortal was a great weakness to overcome in winning an immortal's heart._

 _He promised me his dead heart if I let him change me._

 _I did not want it._

 _"We could be together for eternity, Dakota," Roman said and his hands grazed across my side and up my ribcage. "Imagine it."_

 _I imagined the power. I imagined the control. I imagined the beauty._

 _I did not imagine him there with me_.

I blinked back into reality only for an onslaught of more unwanted emotions and thoughts.

 _"You asked for this," said Roman at the sight of me standing by his door with luggage._

 _I did ask for it. He taught me how to hunt and act normal in public, giving me rewards in the shape of his sacrilegious touch when I did particularly well. Now that he had taught me everything he knew, I was free._

 _"I love my new life," I told Roman, not discarding my luggage to run to him._

 _"Then why are you running away?" he asked._

 _I did not smile. "It is not running away if you never belonged somewhere in the first place," I said._

 _I heard him cry out when I left, the door slamming shut behind me._

 _I was_ free.

"See, it did it again," I burst out, zoning back into reality. Sue was dotting a rag on my chin and cheeks again. "I saw his memories. I saw Roman. I saw it, I swear to God I did."

"I believe you, Alissa," Dad said finally, after I stared at him with pleading eyes. "What did you see?"

I felt an emptiness in Dakota. I felt him read Roman's final aura projection for the pure devastation it was. From the first vision to the last I watched him transition into someone who didn't care whether he hurt anyone in his way to power and glory.

He even said himself he imagined power but didn't imagine someone by his side.

Maybe his intention never was to give power to someone just like him. That'd make him a discarded toy. Maybe he wanted a slave.

Someone to fool around with and participate in games.

It was all power and control with Dakota. Every action had a selfish intention. _Do you want an eternity spent beautiful?_

It was a taunt, meant to tell new victims they'd never have what he had.

Dakota would always be the Volturi's favorite plaything.

"It doesn't matter," I told Dad, gripping Paul's arm tighter. For a moment it did, but to me it no longer had a purpose other than to scare me.

 _It doesn't matter._

 _It hadn't mattered._

 _It didn't matter._

My vision went black.

 _It was a laughable sight, to see one of my descendants sitting at his chair in the Archives scribbling along on the page. He did this many times when I visited him. Occasionally I thought it had meaning and he knew I was watching him. He certainly glanced around his empty room too often to be innocent._

 _"Dakota," Arcus said, sitting up in his chair. "I have something to read for you. I know you're there in my head."_

 _I had been in his head. It was not a beautiful place as it once had been. Age and maturity had shaped him into someone hollow and thin. His brain was just a shell of who I remembered from his youth._

 _I was silent, anticipating whatever he had scribbled to be a message for me._

 _"I am fascinated by your kind," Arcus said, his jowls moving with his articulation. "I am fascinated by you most. You are as beautiful as you are dangerous. Some would say you're a viper, but to me you're beautiful in an unsuspecting way. I have been told my fascination will be my death, and so be it. I'll have died understanding you."_

 _He smoothed out the wrinkled edges of the paper he had on his desk, looking at the corner of his office where I stood, ready to unmask his reality. He met my eyes. From the page he began to read._

 _"To man be the killer,_

 _And to killer be the sun,_

 _And to sun be the darkness,_

 _And to darkness be the moon._

 _He reflects all the curiosities of life,_

 _All the meticulous details of a new day and old strife,_

 _And I know he is all ends of a compass._

 _There is no direction for him when he encompasses all meaning to the very root._

 _If I were the man and the sun,_

 _He'd be the killer and the darkness._

 _He'd be the moon, too."_

 _It was indeed right for his loved ones to warn him._

 _I would be his death, and it was a curious thing that he would not turn from his killer._

 _It did not matter for him to envelope me in flowery praise._

 _I was a viper whose only purpose was to strike._

Dakota was a viper, but I knew he had a weakness.

I felt it in how he faltered to kill the man fascinated with monsters. _The man I knew from his name._

"We have to contact Roman," I told everyone in the room, ignoring their expressions—their anger, their fear, their disgust. They didn't understand what I did.

They didn't understand that Dakota had a weakness, a weakness he denied in his thoughts but I saw and felt in the wisps of his conscience.

His weakness was he felt human emotions. And I knew without a doubt that love was one of them.

/

 _A/N: BRO THIS CHAPTER IS SO FUCKING LONG, I DIDN'T THINK I HAD IT IN ME_

 _I originally wrote something entirely different. I got 4500 words in before I realized it was complete garbage and scrapped it. I am much more content with this version and I hope you guys are as well! It's freakin' crazy that I wrote 10,000 words for a single chapter. I can barely make it to 5,000 sometimes._

 _Since it's long I hope that makes up for the wait. I also hope you all can continue telling me what you feel about it and whether it's keeping you on your toes._

 _Sure, it's a fucking fanfic but I write it to get better at writing itself. I'm an English minor (once upon a time it was major... now it's not) and taking a Creative Writing course in the fall!_

 _Here's a few things that happened that might need explaining or things that I want to clarify even if they haven't been spoken about in the story yet. When Dakota killed Alissa, he knew it wasn't going to kill her because something that her father doesn't know is dying in your dream either re-sets the dream, which cannot happen if an invader's infiltrated it, or jerks you awake. Alissa has no memory of what happened, not because of Dakota killing her but because having him tell her about her Mother and Grandfather was traumatic enough that it made her block out all of their conversations. She's in denial that what she knows isn't what's actually true. And, of course, there's Alissa gaining some of Dakota's memories. When he put his hands on her in the dream, he was angry enough that his own guard shut down and Alissa, who obviously still doesn't understand what she's capable of, unwittingly had several of his memories transfer to hers. Whatever you're confused about, just say and I'll spend my author's notes clarifying them. I hope things are becoming clearer as we learn more about Dakota and the pack world._

 _Jacob will come back into the picture soon, Alissa will get quality time with the pack and she'll even talk to Kim and Emily, we'll meet Roman, Alissa will interrogate anyone she can about what Jared meant with "imprints," and we'll finally move away from AU elements and back into New Moon territory. Which, y'all, doesn't mean we'll lose the action elements, just that... things will be more like they were in the beginning of the story, which I'm sure a lot of you would love._

 _Hope you enjoyed this installment of "The Human Condition!"_

 _Peace xx,_

 _Kate_


	17. Chapter XVII

THE HUMAN CONDITION

Chapter XVII: Oblivion

"In their images they had thought to find some  
small immortality but oblivion cannot be appeased."  
 _―_ Cormac McCarthy _, The Crossing_

* * *

 **Race. Life's a race.  
And I am gonna win.  
Yes, I am gonna win.**

 _"_ _I still have so many questions. I don't fucking understand_ any _of this. It's surreal to think I went from being a normal teenage girl to this_ — _this_ , _I don't know. It's supernatural, I_ _guess… on the bright side I don't have fur sprouting out of my skin."_

 _"Hey! I_ _resent that, Lis."_

 _"Of course you so, wolfman."_

 **And I'll light the fuse,  
and I'll never lose;  
and I choose to survive.  
** ** _Whatever_** **it takes.**

 _"_ _How did I fall asleep with him still tricking me?"_

 _"_ _We don't know. It's impossible to have that much power to penetrate mental shields that go up during sleep. Dreams are sacred places. Even the most insanely powerful of us cannot go there. Humans themselves are incredibly well-protected; that's the beauty of minds. From the minute they begin to construct themselves they grow attached to the brains and bodies that they encompass. Dakota somehow surpassed your barriers."_

 _"_ _I wish I could remember what happened. But it's like a dark spot for any of the time before he killed me in my dream. I know I was in a dream, I know that much. I know that feeling."_

 _"_ _There's two options for what could have happened, circumstances I've only ever heard about but never imagined possible. He could have paralyzed you in real life for whatever stimulation he put you through beforehand and that could have potentially triggered a temporary comatose state."_

 _"_ _Okay… What about the second?"_

 _"…"_

 _"_ _Just say it. We don't have all the time in the world."_

 _"_ _It may have not been a dream at all and was a stimulation of your own conjuring."_

 _"_ _What exactly does that mean?"_

 _"_ _Critical moments of anger, they cause us—as quick to trigger as we are—to fight for control in the situation. We seek to flee."_

 _"_ _I really don't understand anything you're saying."_

 _"_ _Instead of containing you in an offset of his own mental… maybe you sucked him into one of your own."_

 _"_ _Wha—that's fucking impossible. I'm not capable of that."_

 _"_ _Dakota's stimulated constructs are not fool-proof. If we become too overwhelmed, we can paralyze ourselves and our mental shields go up unwillingly—therefore taking us out of the stimulation and putting us back into reality. If his projection of reality begins to feel too much like a reality, we will begin to think critically like we would if it_ were _actual reality—not anything like the confused, irrational approach he craves from us—and that would render us lucid participants. And most dangerous of all, provoking a participant may put cracks into the illusion and instead of knocking both him and his victim back into reality, it will give control back to the participant. A stimulation that feels much like a dream, as the victim is no longer completely powerless."_

 _"_ _That makes no sense, Dad; it's a stimulation that_ he _made. How the hell can someone that isn't him take control of it?"_

 _"_ _Someone perfectly normal perhaps couldn't. But we aren't completely human, Alissa. If anyone knows Dakota best, it is those he is an ascendance from—_

 _"_ _Before a thirst for power corrupted him, Dakota was one of us."_

 **You won't pull ahead;  
I'll keep up the pace.  
And I'll reveal my strength  
to the whole human race.**

 _"_ _I saw Granddad in one of Dakota's memories. He killed him, didn't he?"_

 _"_ _My father was fascinated with what makes someone human and what makes someone a monster. He filled his journal to sate his obsession. Pages of art detailing vampiric physiques, descriptions of every illusion Dakota ever cast upon him, heavy research done in regards to what makes someone supposedly without a conscience. It was utter madness. By his end I felt as though he himself was mad."_

 _'_ _He wrote a poem. I think he saw something different in Dakota. I think he knew what I know."_

 _"_ _He saw mortality in Dakota. He saw the life that came before eternity. It is all implied in his entries—an obsession that led him witlessly to his demise."_

 _"_ _You told me he killed himself. I remember that much. Why'd you lie?"_

 _"_ _What you don't know won't hurt you."_

 **Yes, I am prepared  
to stay alive.**

 _"_ _So I have some of Dakota's memories… because his mental barriers broke down?"_

 _"_ _It's something I've never encountered, but yes. It's the only explanation. We don't know the actual details of your time with him, but I can only assume he was incredibly emotional and during his state, he touched you. How did he kill you, Alissa?"_

 _"_ _He put his hands around my skull and crushed it. I may have been unconscious, but I still felt it. It's like the dream itself was an illusion."_

 _"_ _Listen, Alissa. You caused his own illusion to fail, and you wound up asleep or in an illusion of your own creation. Whatever the case, he was able to make you feel pain because you gave him that power."_

 _"_ _What exactly are you saying?"_

 _"_ _You think he's a dangerous, untouchable monster. Invincible and without weaknesses. Whatever idea is in your head of him, it matches our current enemy."_

 _"_ _Uh, I'm not following."_

 _"_ _You gave him back his abilities the minute you decided to stay afraid of him, even in conscience."_

 ** _(You were warned and didn't listen)._**

 _"_ _I still don't understand why I_ felt _his emotions in his memories. I thought I was just supposed to be watching from his point of view, not hearing his thoughts and feeling his feelings too."_

 _"_ _To my understanding, you stripped from him pieces of his conscience. And perhaps these memories were ones he wanted to forget. You saw memories from his time as a human_ and _vampire, right?"_

 _"_ _Yes. But… I thought he didn't feel."_

 _"_ _It's foolish of you to think that. He was a man. He had a family. Even now he's compensating for that lack of love and affection in his eternity by fostering power."_

 _"_ _He's a monster, though. I mean, psychopaths and sociopaths don't feel, right? How's Dakota any different?"_

 _"_ _Alissa, you have to understand. Dakota's misguided. He was like a child when he met the Volturi: disposable and easily manipulated. I can't be for certain about anything, but if you ask me, I think they brainwashed him. That could explain why he isn't entirely void of emotions."_

 _"_ _His thoughts and feelings didn't feel like they were in sync."_

 _"_ _It's a common effect from being programmed to think a different way from what you grew up believing. Dakota's a recruiter and advisor for the Volturi. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say the Volturi liked him because of his powers. They thought he'd be an asset. And when they heard that he came from an entire line of people just like him… well, it explains why we've been harassed by the bastard for over a century."_

 _"_ _We won't know what he's thinking when he meets Roman again."_

 _"_ _How did he feel when he was with Roman?"_

 _"_ _Well… his feelings and thoughts didn't make sense together, like I said. He was thinking about power and thinking he needed to be 'free' from Roman, but he felt guilty and from how sad—I think it was sad—he was, I could tell he didn't actually want to fully leave him. At times… there_ was _an emptiness, but it was him just putting a void in the places he felt the most. I think. He wanted to not care, but there was a lot of struggling involved. I think… he was just searching for greater purpose. And he thought he couldn't get that from Roman."_

 **I won't forgive;  
vengeance is mine.**

 _"_ _Dakota, when he talked about his emissary powers, he mentioned being different from us. He said he could feel auras and see where the future took people. What do people from our family line normally get for powers?"_

 _"_ _Dakota was a rare commodity. You and I are replicas of our ancestry, luckily. Dakota would be hazardously more determined in you or I joining the Volturi if we were different, like him. The only power he had that made sense with his genes was being able to communicate with the dead. Even that was limited. Dakota has always been rogue when it comes to celebrating his history; maybe it wasn't explored in the memories you got, but Dakota hates wolves. He hates our traditions and our culture. Again, just guesswork here, but I personally think he hates wolves because of jealousy. Maybe he couldn't stand feeling powerless because he had a gene that made him an omega as opposed to an alpha."_

 _"_ _Yeah… I guess he'd hate Sam then."_

 _"…"_

 _"…"_

 _"…_ _We aren't protectors."_

 _"_ _Then what are we? What do we do?"_

 _"…"_

 _"_ _Well?"_

 _"_ _We're shields."_

 **And I won't give in  
because I choose to thrive.**

 _"_ _Why won't you tell me completely about what we do? I know that we can talk to spirits and do, like, offense and defense stuff with them but that's it. Well, and make wolves shift… but I don't want to think of that as an ability. What—what are you hiding?"_

 _"_ _I'm not hiding anything. I don't think you're ready to train. Of course, our ancestors think differently; the guardians even more so. They think you're ready."_

 _"_ _I'm at the forefront of this war, Dad. I think that qualifies me for at least a_ little _bit of trust."_

 _"_ _I know, I know… Whatever is in store for us, it requires fighters at their best. You aren't at your best. You remind me of your grandfather."_

 _"_ _I thought you said he went_ insane _."_

 _"_ _I did."_

 _"…"_

 _"_ _I feel like if we keep going on the way we are, you'll fall down the same path."_

 _"_ _I'm… I'm not_ obsessed _with him. Jesus. He's a monster, and he's trying to turn us, and if he doesn't get us to turn he'll_ kill _us. I have to be worried and learn about him if I don't want to die."_

 _"_ _You've got your answers. Isn't that enough?"_

 _"_ _It won't be enough until you trust me. Until I know what I am. Until you stop thinking I'm a ticking time-bomb."_

 _"…"_

 _"_ _Of course that's what you think. Well, newsflash:_ I _know his weakness._ I'm _the one who got you to call Roman._ I _am why we know more than you guys ever found out in decades. If he falls, it's all thanks to him targeting_ me _. If you just let me—"_

 _"_ _Alissa, you're a_ child _. You've got all the answers you need. I forbid you from training until after Dakota is dead."_

 _"…"_

 _"…"_

 _"_ _Okay. Alright. No training. But I'm not going to sit here and just watch. We all know he's the stronger one. He won't give up without a fight and we all know you and me are the ones he wants. If Roman is… a "vegetarian vampire" now like you said, he'll have some words to say about Dakota being a monster."_

 _"_ _I think you're right, Alissa. But you know as well as I do that Roman won't want the same fate for him."_

 _"_ _We'll see about that."_

 **Yeah, I'm gonna win.**

* * *

 ** _"_** ** _SO THIS ROMAN,_** he's a fucking magician?" asked Paul incredulously as we trekked through a La Push High corridor, Jared and Kim trailing behind us.

It had taken lots and lots of convincing before Dad (begrudgingly) agreed to contact Roman. Roman had given my grandpa a contact card for his traveling business when he came down for permission to do a show in Forks during Dad's childhood, and when Dad had searched for a link to the business online, it—sure enough—had popped up. He came to my room to tell me he'd found Roman's number, thinking I was the first who deserved to know. I mean, I _was_ the one who'd begged him to call. As Dad went to the kitchen, I tiptoed to Jared's room and woke him up from his nap. He was more than eager to eavesdrop with me on Dad's conversation. Not so much for crouching at the doorway of the kitchen.

From the conversation, we gathered that Roman was in Seattle doing a gig for a kid's birthday party. Jared, the only one of the two of us who could hear both tails of the conversation, was unsure himself on whether Roman had plans on coming to assist us.

Roman was very cryptic. He had the decency to inform Dad that he knew of Dakota's past and current transgressions and wasn't in agreement with them; he was "vegetarian" now apparently.

For the past week, we'd all struggled to feel "normal" knowing what we knew. Kallie had been completely flabbergasted when she learned that Jared and I were talking again and I was in an actual touch-touch-my-crush-crush relationship. I hadn't gotten a chance to talk about much of anything with her throughout Dakota's reign in my mind. She thought I was "off"—her words, not mine—as a person and as a friend. I wasn't loud or talkative enough to be her last-known version of Alissa. She told me she was concerned, but I just brushed it off, telling her I was _fine, totally fine._ She thought I was a liar with her pants on fire.

It felt less stressful being with Jared and Paul; they weren't in the dark about anything that had transpired over the last week. I liked them enough that I had no qualms in hanging out with them and being a part of their friendship again. Sort of. I continued to wonder what imprints were and I badly wanted to just bite the bullet and ask someone in the pack what the fuck they were. Things kept coming up and the question kept slipping my mind.

Our rekindled "friendship" had another issue. Wherever Jared went, Kim, oh-so-lovely Kim, came too. I thought Kim was a little too shy and quiet. I knew from her friend Miranda, who loved to gossip about anything and everything if it meant attention, that she'd had an obsession—a fucking fanatical, stalkerish _obsession_ —with Jared before they'd started dating. Talk about a whole bowl of crazy soup and boy was Jared slurping it up.

Embry Call, the elusive man of Kallie's dreams, was still an enigma to me. He was just as quiet as Kim, but he had his moments of being funny and likable. He'd asked me about Kallie once or twice. From his inquiring I gathered that the looks he'd given her up on that beach cliff weren't fabricated. He was absent from school today so he could help Sam patrol in light of Dad's phone call to Roman. We were all anticipating a final act of war from Dakota.

 _Ahem, back to the present._

From Paul's tone, it was easy to tell he thought the idea of a vampire magician was incomprehensible. A fucking joke.

"Yeah, apparently," I said to Paul. I took a glance back at Jared and Kim to see them extraordinarily close, shoulder to shoulder, laughing at something unknown to the rest of the world. I fought back a grimace, looking back to my impatient, chocolate-eyed wolfman. "He has a traveling show. Started it up in 1906, according to Google."

"That's pretty normal," said Paul, "for a leech."

I rolled my eyes. "Did you forget about the part where Dad said he uses 'cognitive manipulations,' whatever that means, in his shows?"

"Oh, right." Paul dropped his arm around my shoulders, crushing me deep into his side. I struggled to walk with his heavy-ass arm weighing me into the floor, but just for him I bit my tongue and didn't complain. We hadn't had much of a chance to be lovey-dovey, given recent events. We were _nothing_ like Kim and Jared, who couldn't go a moment without staring into one another's eyes, but we had our moments. We were more of a "let's make out and laugh about stupid shit" couple. "Why's he so important anyway?"

I'd been pretty vague with Paul and Jared regarding Dakota's memories. It was weird to tell either of them the explicit details. I mean, that's gross to think about. _Vampire_ sex. Sex with a _vampire._

 _If you and Paul ever have sex, that's sex with a dog. So…_

 _Ergh_ , _fuck off, brain._

"Well, maybe him and Dakota were in love," I said innocently, knowing deep inside my mind it wasn't really love. It was lust and pleasure, sure, but neither of those equated love. "I'm sure there's some part of Dakota that… ugh, I don't know the word. Wait—cares. _Cares_ for him."

"Not sure I believe that," Paul said, giving me a dubious side-eye. At least it wasn't his signature "burning you alive with laser eyes" glare; he didn't give it often, but when he did, it could send chills down a fucking wildebeest's spine. "He's a fucking leech."

"Well, yeah, but—" Paul stopped me there by the interruption of his hand. Warm, calloused skin invasively pressed against my mouth.

 _You could have just told me to be quiet, asshat._ I shot daggers down at where open air to breathe should have been.

"He doesn't have a _heart,_ " Paul said slowly. After he touched me, both of us had to come to a complete stop. Jared and Kim went around us but stopped feet away. They obviously didn't want to continue on to the cafeteria without our accompaniment. Or maybe they just liked watching us bicker. "I'm not being prejudiced, Lis, just speaking the truth. How can you feel if you don't have a fucking heart?"

I licked his hand, feeling gutsy, and the disgusted look on his face when he pulled away was satisfying enough that I didn't even let my ire for being touched on the mouth manifest. "I dunno, Paul—maybe emotions?" I said. His lip curled, still rubbing his saliva-enclosed hand off on his pants leg. "Morals and feelings come from the brain…and his brain's still workin', last time I heard."

"Yeah, but wouldn't they work differently than a human's?" Paul asked, looking expectant, as if eager for me to give him an answer that would satisfy his own observations.

I shook my head. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe they're _enhanced_. His feelings in his memories were a _lot_ more crazy and intense than mine are after he was turned, and I'm alive."

Paul absorbed this silently, his face giving him away for being as irritated as I was when he put his hand on my mouth.

His lack of words would have been eerie if we weren't in the middle of an overpopulated, cramped corridor.

"I still think this is all bullshit," he grumbled after a while of us staring, relenting to my tug so the four of us could start walking again.

I bit down on my lip. An enormous wave of guilt washed over me. Anyone with a brain could tell he was mad. "When Roman gets here, it won't just be up to us anymore," I assured him, squeezing his hand. He looked down at it, almost contemplative. "Dad said so."

"Well, we all know how promises work out with your Dad," Paul said bitterly.

I couldn't argue with him on that.

A question plagued me as we arrived at the cafeteria line. It even shadowed me to their usual lunch hotspot, my mouth and breath following a familiar paralytic sensation that overcame my entire body. It was so encapsulating that I didn't notice the weird looks I was getting from everyone who thought I still hated my brother.

 _Can I trust my own father?_

* * *

Trust was a one-syllable, five-letter word that sometimes slipped my mind.

Like now, for instance.

"Roman's coming tomorrow," my father informed me over the phone.

It was three o'clock, and most people were out of the school building by now, heading home through car, bus, bike, or foot. Paul had patrol immediately after school and Jared asked Kim out to the movies. Both were concerned about my wellbeing, requesting me to come with one or the other to avoid being alone, but I promised I'd be with Kallie. Truth was, I hadn't seen Kallie since Art but I was determined to have a word with her before day turned to night. I'd been heading out to the parking lot for an impromptu intervention when I'd gotten an unexpected phone call from Dad. Shockingly—or maybe shockingly _not_ —I didn't feel uneased when I looked at the caller ID.

Now, I was standing frozen on the steps leading up to the school, my heart launched up into my throat. Not by the caller—by his words.

I couldn't let him know that Jared and I had eavesdropped on his call with Roman. I said, "Oh. Did he call?"

"We talked briefly before," Dad said vaguely, leaving me to piece together my own theories on his first chat with Roman. I knew the basics, but even Jared had forgotten all the little tidbits by the time we snuck back into his room. I wanted to know everything I could at this point; maybe it'd be useful when we faced Dakota again. "He called this time. He'll be in Forks by tomorrow morning. I told him we'll let him over the treaty line for the duration of time it takes to sniff Dakota out and exterminate him."

I got over my paralyzed spell. I hopped down the next few steps, kicking a stray pebble in my path when I reached the concrete below. The parking lot felt deserted. It felt _familiar_ , and with a lurch in my gut, I realized it was because it reminded me of Taha Aki's visit in Pic-Pac's sad little parking lot.

 _Fuuuuuck._

"I'm not sure your solution will work, but for your sake and mine, I hope it does," Dad finalized after I stayed silent perhaps a little too long.

"I _guarantee_ Roman will have an effect," I said, pulling out Dad's car keys from the side pocket on my backpack. "I told you, Dakota's not as impassive as he tries making us think. He feels. You and Paul are one in the same, thinking he's a sociopath or something."

"He's killed multiple people, Alissa. He's went on murderous rampages, killing as many as ten at a time. Someone who 'feels' wouldn't just take that many cold bodies with a grain of salt," was Dad's exasperated-sounding response. I couldn't say a word before he finished off with, "And if you remember, _you_ were the one who asked _me_ if Dakota was any different from psychopaths and sociopaths."

He was right. I shook my head, omitting my own hypocrisy from mind and muttering into the screen, "You can murder and still feel _bad_ about it—"

"Listen," Dad said in a harsh, snappy tone. I quickly shut my trap. "I called to tell you that Roman will be here tomorrow and we'll need to call you in for a family emergency. I need you to pick up your work before you come home. Lord knows you're behind enough as it is."

I had missed so much school in the past month from near-death experiences, it was becoming routine to have my teachers ask me if I was okay every time I showed up in class. I even had Mrs. Jones questioning my wellbeing. If that wasn't alarming, I surely needed a healthy dose of brain-picking to see if I'd had my memories wiped.

"Okay, yeah," I said, exempting that I would not, in any size, shape, or form, be going around to my regular classrooms and getting additional work to add onto my already-fairly-high stack of undone work that awaited me at home. My teachers would sympathize with me. They were under the impression that a bear attacked me and that I had a concussion from falling off my bed; the work I had due wasn't due until the end of _March_ because they were all worried my next accident would end with me comatose in Forks Community Hospital. "I'll do that after you get off."

School was the least of my priorities.

A cough came from his side of the call. "Yeah, I didn't think you would," he said, surprising me. _Shit, he knows me better than_ I _know me._ "Get home as soon as you can."

"Alrighty," I said. I ignored how badly I wanted to lie and yap on about being a law-abiding student.

"See you in a bit. Love you."

"Yeah, love you too," I replied.

He hung up before I had a chance to.

After I snapped my phone shut, the silence came in for the kill.

Everyone was either home or in some classroom or another. No sports games to attend, no sponsored events—just tutoring sessions in the library and regularly-scheduled detentions. None of which I was invited to or obliged to attend.

It felt strange, standing surrounded by silence. After so long being tailed by friends and family, I'd grown used to always having someone by my side, a two-sided conversation underway. Ever since I'd woken up from my dream death, I hadn't been left alone. Everyone was worried about me and my headspace. They knew that suffocating me wouldn't help if Dakota decided to pay my head another visit, but it felt reassuring to them if I was always in eyesight.

It was surprising that no one was around. In that moment, I was alone.

I hightailed it over to my Dad's car when it came into my peripheral, unwilling to just stand there like an unsociable idiot any longer. Truly I just didn't want to let my feelings and thoughts creep up and swamp me.

Dad lent me the car this morning after I complained about being in the same vehicle as Jared and Kim. I had to drive him up to the Archives as payment. Afterwards, I went and picked up Paul from his house; I didn't even comment when he came out topless with a bundled-up shirt in his hand, like he'd just rolled out of bed. The two of us were late getting to school because of him wanting to make out in the driveway of his house, but hey, I didn't complain. I broke it off as soon as my face went bright red from being unable to breathe.

I was both thankful and saddened I wouldn't get that same experience now. _Damned Sam and his patrols._

I got in my car and drove to Kallie's house, remembering the path like a developing baby would its mother's voice.

The lights weren't off when I got there, keying me in that Kallie was home—but the lack of a vehicle in the drive also said that her parents weren't. They probably left her brother in charge.

I turned off the ignition and left the key in its slot, thinking it'd be easier for both parties if I got Kallie to come out and have a chat with me in open, frigid air.

I ignored her two dogs staring curiously at me from the grass when I walked up and rang the doorbell.

 _1 Mississippi… 2 Mississippi… 3 Mississippi… 4 Mississippi…_

It was Kallie's college-age brother Brandon who cracked open the door.

"Oh _hey_ , Alissa," he greeted, beaming down at me with a strange set of hazel eyes that gleamed and twinkled. He was the "pretty one" in the family, according to Kallie; they always yapped on and on about how he could be a model with how conventionally attractive he was. Decent height, floppy brown hair, symmetrical face, cute smile. His skin was a lot lighter than the rest of us, hinting that he got more from his Dad—who was barely a tenth Native—in the genetics department. Kallie resented him for it. "What're you doing around these parts?"

"Not in for a visit with _you_ ," I returned drily, peering around his frame in an attempt to get a peek of the inside. It failed when Brandon shifted fully into my view. "Ugh, come _on,_ Brandon. I gotta see Kallie. Tell her I bring Embry-related news."

Brandon knew about Kallie's crush on Embry from a chat he eavesdropped on months back. He's held it over her head ever since.

Brandon smiled, a dimple appearing on his left cheek. "Thought we had something, Lis," he said. "You're breaking my heart here."

I scowled. _Only Paul gets to use that stupid nickname._ "Shut up, Brandon. Get Kal for me."

Brandon's smile never wavered as he turned his head and yelled, "Hey, Kallie! Alissa's here at the door for you!"

A silence awaited Brandon's call. A silence that made me wonder if Kallie was upset with me over how I'd acted lately.

Brandon turned back to me when Kallie failed to return his call. "Huh," he said, quirking an eyebrow. "That's funny. I thought you guys were best friends."

"We are," I said brusquely. "I mean, we are. She's just… We're going through a friendship crisis right now. Here, just let me—"

I stopped when I noticed he wasn't even looking at me. His eyes were over my head, on something I couldn't see.

"Brandon… what—"

Brandon's arm suddenly shot out and heaved me forward.

"Ow!—what the _fuck_ , Brandon—"

"Shh. There's someone in the trees," Brandon said to me quietly. The world spun as he pulled me through the door, shutting it behind us. He released me quickly afterward. "I don't know who it is. He didn't look familiar."

I shoved him away from me, not amused in the slightest. "Oh, fuck off, Brandon," I said, not dumb enough to fall for his tricks. I was sure Kallie was hiding near the staircase somewhere, giggling at her brother and his failed acting career. "Now where's Kallie?"

Brandon shook his head, turning his back to me. He crept quietly up to the window beside the front door, using a pointer finger and his thumb to crack open a blind. He quickly pulled back. "He's still there," he whispered.

I knew my face betrayed how unimpressed I was on the inside. But there was that part of me wondering if I was underreacting. "Oh really? What's he look like?"

"He's real pale, and he's got these _fangs,_ and he kinda looks like he's smirking," Brandon stammered, peering back toward the window. His gaze pinballed between me, the floor, the door, and the window. He looked genuinely freaked out. "Dark, _dark_ hair. He looks like someone from the reserve, but I don't recognize him…"

"Okay, Brandon," I said, drawing out the "o." "We get it. You're the next Michael Caine. Congrats."

But even I was getting a little worried. _Pale. Fangs. Smirk. Hair._ Had a vampire followed me here? Was it Dakota?

I had no time for his games, if so. I wasn't with anyone who could protect me. Just Brandon and his stupid hair. Just Kallie and her noodle arms.

Brandon's shoulders sagged, his petrified act never wavering. I rolled my shoulders and went around him. I barely left an inch of space.

If I were perfectly honest with Brandon, my heart was beating out of its cage and my brain was going hysteric from paranoia. I mean, vampires! Vampires! Again!

 _Vampires freaking suck._

"It's been a freakin' week," I muttered under my breath. Images, video loops, ran rapidly through my mind. Right behind my eyelids. Of Dakota. Of his sexual exploit with Roman. Of him turning me into a brain slushy. I braced myself for what I'd see when I popped open a blind.

As I repeated Brandon's process with my pointer finger and my thumb, a blind went upward and the outside appeared through the pane. All I saw within the trees was pine, bark, and muck. Nothing that hinted at a vampire being in our midst.

 _You're not safe._

Regardless I let out the breath I'd braced.

"Cool prank, thanks," I said, not meaning my words. I moved my head a few inches to look over at Brandon. He didn't look apologetic or anything, not what I'd been anticipating when I turned around. I'd expected something to suggest that this had been a prank to defend his sister's honor.

Brandon looked pale. His fear was still evident. I wasn't good at telling whether emotions were real or fake on a person so I could only deduce that the lack of relief meant they were real.

 _Double fuck._

"Uh, you know where Kallie's room is," Brandon said awkwardly, not looking at me. He pushed back a flop of fallen hair from his forehead. "I guess I was imagining it."

I didn't feel very assured by his words. He was just as clueless as me, and he was the one who'd seen someone in the trees. If he saw something, why was he backing down now?

 _Dakota's inhumanely fast. Him disappearing isn't illogical._

Brandon didn't know about vampires and shapeshifters. If he did, I was sure he would have been more freaked out than he already was. He looked unsettled, yeah, but nothing compared to the full-blown panic attack I was on the verge of.

I was the one underreacting. This was serious.

"Lock the other doors. I got this one," I said, flickering my gaze down on the flimsy golden doorknob.

Brandon just stood and stared at me. I nudged my head toward the kitchen area, where I knew an additional door was situated. There were three doors in the house.

 _Come on, Brandon. Just do what I'm telling you. Don't ask questions._

Was he thinking he was imagining things? Did he think I was _over_ reacting? Seriously? If I, someone who could only take his word for it, was certifying this as a real, frightening problem… what was stopping him from feeling the same?

Maybe he was frozen in fear and confusion. I remembered being this clueless once.

I snapped.

"Fucking do it, Brandon! This is serious!" I barked, pushing him in the chest. I went around him and pulled the lock on the front door, locking the key in place too. Brandon finally seemed to grow a brain, his feet back-peddling. He left to do what I told him to and I quickly took another look through the blinds. There was still nothing to be seen but unsuspecting nature.

 _Triple fuck._

"Fuck," I whispered aloud, wanting to bang my head into the wall until I forgot my own damn name. Anything was better than watching Dakota's return. His debut was enough of a deal-breaker for me.

There were only two illusions I remembered and both didn't feel very good. I didn't want a follow-up.

I heard an additional pair of footsteps that sounded nothing like the loud stomps coming from Brandon's trapezing through the house. They were soft, but emitted enough sound that I knew there was someone behind me. Pitter-pattering steps that _had_ to belong to Kallie.

I whipped around, catching her just as she got to the bottom of the stairs.

Her eyes were on mine, mine on hers. We silently observed each other. I didn't stay silent for very long, kind of wishing she _wasn't here._ There was nothing keeping Dakota from killing my best friend and her brother.

"Kallie!" I blurted out, knowing my emotions were expressed very potently on my face. Kal was dressed in a navy camisole and gray gym shorts, feet clad in mix-matched socks. She had her pin-straight brown hair piled up into a bun. Her eyes followed me to her brother as he came running through the entrance room to get to the door at the back of the house. I knew she wasn't ecstatic to see me, but fuck. The look on her face made me think I was an enemy and I knew our history enough to _know_ that wasn't true.

"What are you doing here?" Kallie asked. Her gaze drifted from me to her brother as he came skirting back into the room, bent over and catching his breath. "Why's Brandon running all over the place? What did you do to him?"

"Listen, you have no fucking idea what I've been through so take that attitude and shove it up your ass," I said hatefully, entirely too done with her bullshit and Dakota's too to take them at the same time. Kallie was normally sweet and understanding; if I was different, then so was she. I barely knew who this was. "There's a guy out there who's going to kill us if we don't call my Dad."

"Wha—" Kallie shook her head, her eyes scathing. Yep, she certainly hadn't skipped over my first verse and yep, she certainly hadn't appreciated it. "The heck are you talking about? Is this revenge because I haven't talked to you?"

"Are you kidding me?" I looked at Brandon, gesturing towards his braindead sister. "Tell her. She isn't gonna listen to me."

"Yeah, it's true," Brandon said. He was so breathless that it was noticeable in his voice. "I saw someone outside. He was pale and had fangs. I think he was like Ro—"

"Brandon, we've talked about this," Kallie interrupted, cutting a glance at me that said all I needed to know. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in front of me. "I know you're good friends with that magician guy who claims he's a vampire but that doesn't mean they're real, okay? He's just crazy. You're _starting_ to sound crazy."

"Wait, wait," I said, multiple bells ringing off all at once in my head. _Uh. Did I hear that right? Brandon knows Roman? How the hell?_ I was completely dumbfounded. "How did you meet Roman?"

Brandon's face, flushed from his trip around the house, drained of its ruby color. "You… you know Roman?"

"More or less," I muttered. I understood now that Brandon _did_ know what was going on and I misinterpreted his facial expressions and mannerisms. He probably didn't know as much about the situation as me but he _somewhat_ knew what was outside. He wasn't paralyzed in confusion; it was fear and memories of someone who looked just like the douche outside. _I have this backwards._ "Listen, alright, that guy out there? Not friendly. My Dad knows what to do. Locked doors won't keep him out."

I omitted from telling them I left literally all of my belongings outside in my Dad's car.

Brandon was distressed, his sister following suit in expression. "But, what, why did you make me lock the doors then?"

"I didn't think you already knew about vampires," I said honestly. "I thought you'd feel safer if we locked the doors. We're fucked even more than we are if you pass out."

"I-I won't pass out. I just need to…" Brandon collapsed onto the floor.

Kallie flinched at the thump that followed. She made eye contact with me again. "I don't really believe you, Lissa, and I really, _really_ don't believe Brandon, but… better safe than sorry, right? I don't want to take chances."

I nodded at her. "Right."

But I could feel something pounding at the barriers in my mind, screaming at me to let it in. It started out like a gentle knock, but it grew in crescendo when I pretended it wasn't there. Dakota was outside somewhere, and I couldn't understand how or why. I didn't know why he was trying to trigger me when he'd had all the time in the world since I'd been lucid. He could have done it days ago, could have done it when I was with my father or with Jared and Paul. He had all the chances.

He was on La Push soil. He was breaking the treaty. There was a specific amount of mileage he had to cover where he could sing to my conscience and enrobe me in a darkness of his creation. If he was here, the wolves would find him. They'd smell him. He had never wanted to stay hidden, but he'd never been this close. Sam had said anytime they tracked him after he came onto La Push soil, he was never this close to me. Even when he came to me when I was half-asleep at 3 am, Sam said that Dakota's scent was found in the trees. Nowhere close to my house.

My eyes widened when I realized what this meant.

 _He's going to delude me and hurt me in an illusion right in front of Kallie and Brandon,_ I thought, bracing for impact. _The pack better hurry their asses up and smell him before he kills us all._

Dakota's offence didn't start out the way I suspected it.

No, no, the way it happened was something that took me entirely off guard.

Brandon's body went entirely still on the floor before his back suddenly straightened. His glossy eyes looked up and stared right through me.

"Bran?" Kallie said shakily, moving to help him up. He clumsily swatted her hand away.

"Don't touch me," Brandon shouted, his legs futilely pushing at the floor as he tried moving away from us. He ended up the same as he just was. He looked this way and that, unfocused and crazy-eyed, this same glossy shine haunting each pupil. "I'm scared."

 _So that's how someone looks during an illusion. Gloss on the eyes and blubbering insensibilities._

"What the fuck is happening to him?" Kallie hissed, nails digging into my arm. I never even noticed, in my daze watching Brandon, when Kal had moved over to me and started gripping my arm. It hurt. It hurt a lot. It hurt enough that I ended up yanking myself away from her, a grunt escaping me.

I rubbed at the bleeding nail bites, laser-focusing on Brandon. He had tears streaming down his face now, a large scratch going down the side of his face. Seconds later there was another one on his arm. Brandon was swatting the air now, screaming for something to _stop, stop hurting me! Leave me alone!_

He never… in all the times he hurt me, he never left a mark. Why were marks being left on Brandon? Why was he hurting him in the first place? _Did me being descended from emissaries make me invincible from scars?_

I whipped around to the front door. "Fuck you, Dakota! Just leave him alone!" I screamed, my voice as loud as Brandon's. A week ago, my father said that Dakota wouldn't go after anyone in this area unless it was me or him. But here he was, antagonizing a _human boy._

Brandon went still again after a silence induced by my scream, a wad of snot dribbling out of his nose.

I marched over to the door, unlocking it and pulling out the key. Dakota wanted to play games; I'd show him a fucking game. I shoved the door open with a force I didn't even think I was capable of.

The open air was even colder than it was fifteen minutes ago. The trees were empty, a breeze shaking the pine needles and muck coating the fallen leaves. I regretted wearing a short-sleeved shirt today. I regretted leaving my jacket at home.

"Not gonna fuck with my car?" I yelled. Dad's car was still in the driveway. The tires looked intact, the windshield was perfect, and the only scratches on her were from my misadventures when learning to drive at fifteen. The coffee stain on the interior was all relative to my own past mistakes. "Not gonna fuck with _me?_ Where the fuck are you?"

It occurred to me then. I had never seen Dakota in person. He was always disillusioning me or haunting me in my thoughts. He'd long been cemented as a real, marbled threat—but he felt like a fucking nightmare.

I was asking him to become real.

My breath escaped me involuntarily. "JUST SHOW YOUR—"

I never saw him coming until he was right in front of me.

My teeth clamped down onto my tongue as a hand both physical and stone-like crashed into my chest, sending me meters away and right on top of one of Kallie and Brandon's dogs. It was half-Pitbull and it let out a yelp and clambered out from underneath me when I landed.

"I _know_ what you're planning, Alissa." I felt something push me over onto my back, a shoe that felt expensive and like leather.

I blinked tears out of my eyes. Stars sparkled in my vision, eliminating any chance I had to see the asshole standing above me. I reached my hand up and rubbed at my eyes until he wasn't just a blur of whites and browns and blacks anymore; I regretted it instantly.

Dark hair falling into his crimson eyes, perfect face clenched into a permanent frown. He was a charismatic bombshell. The Candyman of the modern decade, really. But there was none of that here when he wasn't disillusioning me to see him beautiful and invulnerable. I saw him for the hard edges and crazed energy he was.

Dakota was just as sinister and frightening as he was in my dreams. The fear I felt looking at him reached a magnitude from an additional factor that entered the game: this wasn't a nightmare anymore.

 _Don't show your fear._

 _Don't show your fear._

 _Don't show your fear._

"Ow," I said sarcastically, turning to my side and spitting out beside his shoe. Oh, look at that—it _was_ expensive and leather.

Dakota kicked my head, making me swear and face vertical again. He wasn't using his full strength. If he wanted to he could kick my head right off and I wouldn't have much to say or do about it. I didn't know if he wanted to. I didn't know if he was playing with me. All I could think about was how he'd followed me here and hurt my best friend's brother for whatever reason and I didn't know if there was an escape that didn't end in death.

"You heard Brandon… talk about Roman, didn't you?" I said, struggling to talk past the pain in my head. I couldn't sit up, but at least I could see the monster above me. He was so young-looking, so brutally handsome—yet he was a murderer, a killer, a beast. It didn't make any sense. His bad habits didn't match his profile. "You're really not as subtle as you think."

Dakota hissed, "After I'm through with you, that child is my next target."

"Just leave him alone," I said, trying in vain to sit up. "It's me that you want. Not Brandon."

"He's a worthless human."

I scowled. "And you're just a worthless vampire."

He kicked my head again, right where the wound from riding in the back of Bella's truck was. I let out a short-lived yelp. _He just opened up my wound._

"Fuck you," I spat.

"Our time together has been fun, darling—" Dakota's tone was mocking, no affection when his voice caressed the pet name. He toed me over onto my stomach again. "—but I'm _tired."_

"You don't fucking _get_ tired." I pushed up on my elbows, pieces of grass sticking to my face. Numbness was spreading on my head and with it streamed liquid red, resembling my bloody Carrie cosplay from that _stupid_ February day. "You're over a century old, shouldn't you be playing adult games? I—I've not done _anything._ "

Another kick and I was on my back again. Dakota's face was as blurry as it was from the first pain-laced experience being on my back.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you and I'm going to enjoy killing your friends," Dakota crooned down at me. "Just as much as I enjoyed watching your grandfather and mother die."

 _Don't you talk about them._

"Shut up," I whispered brokenly.

"Watching your mother take her own life was nearly as beautiful as watching your father break."

" _Shut up."_

Dakota smiled humorlessly. "You're not anything of worth to me. You may think you have cracked the code but you've _not_. This obsession of yours won't save you and it won't save your father or your mangy mutt of a brother. You're as pathetic as your grandfather if not more—"

"JUST _SHUT UP!"_

I shot my hand out.

A loud howl echoed all around us, bursting my eardrums and causing Dakota himself to stagger back. My hand was glowing and burning, a sensation even worse than the ringing in my head. I was angry. The anger itself was so annihilating that every part of my body was bursting at the seams. I shouted in shock as I saw something black and graceful shoot out of my hand, where the light was emitting. I watched the shadow throw itself straight at Dakota and directly make impact with his chest.

Dakota went flying through the air, a sickening crack coming from where he hard and fast hit a tree.

There were shouts that came from in Kallie and Brandon's house.

"Oh my… _God_." I looked at my hand in horror. Amazement.

 _How did I do that?_ I didn't know.

I was only able to feel a little bit of relief before I heard the pieces of tree that fell down with Dakota go flying back into the pines. A whoosh of air made my shirt wallop against my skin. Dakota was above me again, mostly expressionless with the tiniest hint of anger showing.

I braced for death but didn't receive it.

"Emotions. Trivial things," he muttered, dusting off shattered bark on his shirt. "Has your father told you that anger and fear are the very fuel you channel to control your shields?"

"No," I said, nervously digging my elbows into the dirt and trying to drag myself away. "He hasn't taught me much of anything."

Dakota laughed before leaning down. He grabbed my foot and hauled me underneath him.

"I'm going to talk and you're going to listen, girl," he said. "You stole my memories. You've called Roman here, like the child you are, unable to fight your own battles. You're a _thorn_ in my side. Everything you do is all but a burden on me. In the years I've developed my practice, not once has an illusion failed. Yet you… you're different."

"I'm not sorry."

Dakota laughed again. He grabbed my hand that had the moon tattoo and hauled me up, my shoulder nearly dislocating at his brute force not even a fraction of his true power.

I staggered away after he released. Emotions were how I projected a defender, but the power of my anger had evaporated in the wake of our conversation. I didn't know how to channel emotions to be advanced; knowing how to do any of it could have very well saved me by now if I wasn't so confused and naïve. _Clueless, insolent, pathetic._

Clueless, insolent, and pathetic.

"I am not vengeful." I took another step back. The pack should have smelt him by now. They should have heard the howl. Why were they not here? Paul was on fucking patrol, wasn't he? "I do not seek to kill you as revenge from taking my memories and ruining decades of practice. I am not bloodthirsty. I do not do it because I am interested to see how you taste."

My breath hitched in anticipation. But he didn't continue.

Staring over at Dakota, I felt frightened. I didn't get frightened very often. Ever since learning about shapeshifters and vampires, my fright seemed entirely induced by him, by the idea of something inhuman. Induced by something only seen in books and movies. Dakota was scary. _He's fucking terrifying._

His memories humanized and dehumanized him all the same. I felt emotions behind the layers of empty promises. He read auras, I saw his readings, but all I had the ability to do in his memories was analyze his own. He was so good at deceiving others that he inflicted the same deception on himself—and it worked like a fucking charm.

Dakota disappeared in a blur and appeared right in front of me.

He was average height, barely any taller than Brandon. I only had to tilt my head up to touch noses with him.

"I am not powerful," Dakota whispered. "I do not have the capacity to be and to do as I please and be granted unconditional loyalty from it."

"Then what are you?" I whispered back.

"I'm an executioner." Dakota's eyes never, in his entire dialogue, left mine willingly. "I kill because that is what I was created and assigned to do. I'm a follower. I kill and transition those who seek immortal life into eternity because I am asked to."

I blinked.

"Wanting you on my side is not something I personally care for. Your death or your transition are nothing to me. But whatever my superiors say, goes. And they can kill me just as easily as they built me."

"You're a liar," I said, shaking my head." You went to them because you wanted power. You never had to listen to them."

Dakota looked away from me, staring at the window behind me. I knew Kallie and Brandon were there watching like fools. He laughed again and he raised his hand up to cup my cheek. "You do not know all of my narrative," he told me softly. "Merely enough to craft one that's false."

"Maybe," I said in return.

"You never knew what you wanted, Dakota. You chased after other people's dreams. Power was all I ever wanted and I filled your head with thoughts of joining the Volturi. Eventually I chose and wanted a different path and you decided that my previous dream was the only one you'd ever known."

 _Oh my God._

The sudden voice, suave and with a bit of an accent, made both Dakota and me halt as we were nose to nose, my breath crystallizing and drumming against his mouth. It wasn't one I knew. It didn't come from Kallie or Brandon in the house. It sounded like Dakota's. It sounded too enticing to be true.

I looked in the direction the voice came from. I didn't stop my jaw as it unlocked.

A man with skin as pale and glistening as moonlight, with bleached hair that had chestnut peaking out at the roots, with a leather jacket that suited his stocky frame, with eyes. Quadruple fuck. His eyes. Amber brown, no trace of crimson.

But the crimson and new hairstyle weren't necessary in pinpointing who he was.

" _Roman_ ," I breathed.

* * *

 _A/N: I hope you guys are staying safe wherever you're at in the world right now. Shit be scary in the states rn; this shit be serioussssss_

 _Moving on from the horrors of modern life, here's a second update this month—a gift to all of you who have nothing better to do than read at home (i.e., me)._

 _How y'all feeling with this chapter? It suck? Sorry if it does—I swear to god I sometimes really hate this book and want to just delete it off the internet and pretend I never wrote it._

 _I've been reading over the story and holy fuck I kind of hate my own writing? I hate everything about it? Yuckkkkkk (I'll probably feel better about it when I finish it and get to go back and completely edit it)_

 _But I appreciate my readers so here's a big uwu for u all! *heart heart heart*_

 _Again, thank you SO, SO MUCH for taking time out of your day to tell me how you feel about this story. I read every single comment made. I take every criticism into consideration. You fucking rock if you comment._

 _Please continue to tell me how you feel about this story. Please please please. The more of you that do, the quicker I'll update I promise!_

 _Next chapter is the end of Dakota's arc. It'll be big! BIG ASS UPDATE!_

 _P.S. Survival by Muse is the song used in the dialogue section. And additional sowwies to anyone disappointed in this story/chapter 3:_


	18. Chapter XVIII

| THE HUMAN CONDITION |

Chapter XVIII: The End

 **"** It was a pleasure to burn. **"**

 _Fahrenheit 451,_ Ray Bradbury

* * *

 **ROMAN DIDN'T REACT** to me saying his name. His amber eyes, still something I was unused to and finding it difficult to know, stared at the killer beside me. The killer returned his stare. I took my limited time observing them both, trying desperately to see what each of their motives was, _failing,_ finding myself unable to move as if their staring contest destroyed the time frame and their steadfast gazes kept me rooted to the grass.

Looking at Dakota was different from looking at what was once his lover. They were as comparable to each other as snow was to rain, really; both had a magic of their own, but one could cause the other's destruction. I knew which was which.

Roman's first words staggered me. I originally hadn't known where they came from and before I saw him, I went crazy wondering who could possibly have known that much about Dakota. The memories I stole from Dakota didn't include anything about Roman's own hopes and dreams, Dakota's past thoughts not mentioning from where he drew inspiration for his ambitions. I just assumed he found out about the Volturi from Roman telling him everything there was to know about the supernatural world over their course of being lovers. That was only half-true. Roman, red-eyed, charismatic, and a deceiver all of his own, wanted the same _before_ he turned Dakota. After, he filled Dakota's head with the same delusions.

Dakota's memories circulated in me.

 _I imagined the power. I imagined the control. I imagined the beauty._

 _I did not imagine him there with me._

Horror struck through me when in rapid fashion I realized— _Roman_ was the one he imagined with power, control, and beauty. Dakota thought he would be left behind.

 _I was free._

He was free of the "control" of Roman only to fall into another's grasp.

Was Dakota really the villain I painted, or was _Roman?_ Or were they both entirely misguided and had each other as the villain in their respective stories?

I stepped away from Dakota, getting further from Roman in the process. Both of them were technically monsters, but only one had truly broken free from the death and destruction a supernatural lifestyle offered. Roman was powerful and selfish in Dakota's memories and maybe he remembered him as that now. Dakota's face looked fucking lethal. Roman's was _apologetic,_ of all things to be. Didn't that mean something?

Dakota was right. I _was_ writing a false narrative for him this entire time, not asking myself if his intensions were at the fault of who came into his life to manipulate him or if they were coming from his own head and heart. I didn't think about it at all until I learned from his memories that he had the capacity to feel human emotions. I spent a long time thinking he was like any other immortal creature. Heartless, self-seeking, and inscrutable. I involuntarily let my fear manifest so that it made him an indestructible figment in my head.

 _You never once questioned the truth. Your father spun a tale for you, and you just_ allowed _it to happen_

I couldn't possibly know for sure whether Dakota was the outcome of Roman's thoughts or he came into his position of power through personal ambitions. Roman wanted power; Dakota, as he said goodbye to him, thought about the same, _wanted_ the same. Roman turned Dakota for _selfish_ reasons. Dakota wanted to turn for his own gain, or so it appeared. Neither cared about the other the way I cared about Paul or my Dad cared about my Mom. This was a transaction.

 _We could be together for eternity, Dakota._

He was upset when Dakota left him, but the reason could not have been because he _loved_ him. Love—was it even possible for vampires? Were they not conditioned to be inherently selfish, unforgiving creatures?

 _Why are you running away?_

I stupidly went along thinking that Roman was better than Dakota and that he'd play hero if we asked him here to foil Dakota's plans. Roman: inhuman and a recovering human blood addict, but _good._ He had to be if he changed his diet, if he worked in a business that involved being kind to humans. He acted like he didn't agree with Dakota's actions over the phone, but knowing _he_ was the original one determined to join the Volturi changed my perception of him in one sweep.

Perhaps monsters weren't so different from each other after all. All their own form of mercury.

I thought about a _lot_ during their venomous, unending stare-down. Part of me wondered whether Roman himself was lying. Dakota left to be "free," and I could only assume it was Roman's control he was trying to escape. Roman _let_ him, presumably because he knew Dakota was too powerful for him to fight. Dakota never used his vampire gift in the memories I had from him, but I knew it was _there_ , lurking in the shadows of his brain just waiting for a purpose.

This was all too much for an idiot teenage girl to figure out on her own. Thankfully, Roman and Dakota didn't stay silent for much longer.

 _He's not free anymore._

A snarl left Dakota after we three spent an eternity in brewing silence. I looked over and saw his unwrinkled features drawing up at the lips to flash his fangs, two incisors that looked like they could tear through wood if it came down to it.

"Watch your tongue _, Rome_ ," he said maliciously, having to spit out the words. "I never chased your dream. I left because you were a fucking tyrant and I couldn't bear the thought of spending an eternity with you."

I watched Roman as Dakota aimed his harsh string of words at him, and I got to see him flinch back like Dakota's words had physically stung him.

"Going to the Volturi was your own idea?" Roman asked, responding to himself by giving his head a shake. "Ideas don't just conjure themselves out of the air; I _told you_ about them. I told you everything you needed to know about the world you were going to be a part of. I tried and did all I could for you, yet it was useless, wasn't it? You've resented me since you left that day."

"Are you that _daft_ to your own intrusions?" Dakota's eyes glinted when he asked the question. "Your teachings involved me staying indoors for months. You were trying to convert to animal blood. _Animal blood._ Your own attempts at conversion turned into coercing me to follow in your stead, you bastard. You _starved_ me if I relapsed—"

"Until the day you made me swallow human blood to prove surviving without it was a pointless existence," Roman growled at him. "You forget yourself. Any of your past blunders have turned into grievances. This is one of your many oversights. You are _not_ right to resent me."

" _I was only returning the favor_ ," Dakota hissed through sharp teeth. I could almost hear his body vibrating from here.

"I hope you lamented over everything you ever said or did when Jane tortured you for your mistakes," Roman said mirthlessly, but his eyes were shining brightly. "You will never be free under the Volturi's thumbs, Dakota; there's no other reason for you to be here. They have you like a whipped dog."

I felt captivated listening to him speak about things that I never would have known from Dakota's memories I swiped. Why hadn't I taken any of his memories from living and recruiting for the Volturi? Wouldn't they be memories that haunt him more than childhood? Fresh memories were always the most recent salted wounds.

 _Unless there's something I'm missing._

Roman was better than me at insulting Dakota. His insults hinted at an experience in Dakota's orbit, whereas anything I said came out clumsily because there was no knowing the truth because I hadn't lived it. Roman _knew_ the truth. And though preying on Dakota's faults and insecurities were good ways to provoke him, saying things that were _true_ was an even worse pain. Saying his doubts, making it perfectly clear that _he_ saw Dakota's faults all on his own, cementing as truth that everything Dakota hated himself for was seen by the one person he ever trusted, maybe even loved—

Roman's last words unanimously decreed him the winner in a battle of slights.

"Whipped _dog?_ " I nervously backed away after seeing the look in Dakota's eyes. It was completely animalistic and any remaining calm he had in him was replaced by complete hatred. "The only mongrels in this world are the beasts that chase us. I am not one of those creatures."

"Yet you bend over backwards like a mutt would for its owner," Roman said, chuckling to himself. "Don't fret, dear. We all have our inner beasts. Mine is just less… subservient."

"You have no hint as to what my existence has been like since I left you," Dakota said in a tortured tone. "The only reason I joined was because I was afraid to die. Even now I fear it. You coaxed me, begged me to take your offer, and I obliged out of my own dread. _You_ were the one who assumed I wanted to spend an eternity with you. I _never_ did."

"You never once tried clarifying your aspirations," Roman said, crossing his bulging arms across his chest.

"I made my bed. I chose to lie in it opposed to finding a new one," Dakota said stiffly.

"You could have had a _life_ with me. You cannot deny that you enjoyed our time together." Roman's voice had turned completely unrecognizable. I hadn't ever seen an emotional vampire. If he wasn't physically incapable of it, I suspected tears would have fallen by now. "You _knew_ the pain I went through before meeting you. I told you everything. Do _not_ pin the reasons for your self-loathing on me. As you said, you made your bed. You chose to lie in it. With me, with those fucking bastards you kill for, with everyone."

What pain?

As if sensing my questions, Dakota snarled, "It's been two centuries since you lost your wife, Roman. I pitied you once; I don't dare to repeat. I felt your aura when I first met you. The longer we stayed together the more I noticed the deception of your feelings. Elated one moment and in despair the next. I fear you were taught to be a deceiver. It was how you tricked me into this Hell in the first place."

"You wanted this, Dakota," Roman reminded him. "Don't forget your place."

I was beginning to think they'd forgotten I was even there. I wondered, too, why none of the pack had appeared. Leaving me to fight a battle I was barely qualified enough to participate in felt a little like bullying, truth be told. Getting my ass kicked was something anyone would find funny.

Roman glanced over at me, giving me the idea through this conversation I was meant to have run off and hid. Ha! Why would anyone in their right mind leave when Dakota could easily catch up and rip their head off? Or maybe he didn't exactly enjoy me hearing his deep secrets and watching Dakota snap. Ah, I'd seen enough to know enough. Everything now was secondary after last week's premiere of "Dakota and Roman: Star-Crossed Lovers."

I gave him a shake of my head and his jaw clenched, sharp amber eyes turning back to Dakota.

Dakota whipped his head around to glare at me. "It's wrong to eavesdrop, girl," he said with a sneer.

I returned his sneer.

"And it's wrong to be a bastard but here you are," I snapped before I could remember my place. It was the wrong thing to say to the face of a vampire whose pride was like a broken off shard of mirror.

Dakota walked towards me, not using any of his vampiric pace. He didn't say anything, choosing to just circle me with a predatory look on his face. I stayed still. Breathing slipped my mind and every few seconds I felt like choking because my throat had closed to compensate for my distress. I was having great fun listening to them speak about the failures and tribulations of their past, yet Dakota seemed to remember exactly why all three of us were here in the first place. I was a would-be recruit for the Volturi and Roman was called here to trip him up so he could hunt us no longer; he'd been angry, very angry, at first and after Roman had provoked him, there was a look of pure rage on his face.

Dakota stopped when he was directly in front of me. He glared down his nose.

"Killing you wouldn't make me feel any better," he growled animalistically, mirroring a dog.

I froze in fear.

Roman piped up behind him, seeming to also have come closer at Dakota's own venture, "She's just a kid. Remember when you were her age? You lost your father. Imagine how she's felt not having a mother since she was six." I was bemused at how he knew so much. Not many people knew how long it'd been since losing her. Roman was a complete _stranger_ ; how could he know anything about me? "You were part of it."

Everything violently clicked.

There was something about that, what he said, that made my brain explode.

Explode with things I'd been repressing. Memories I never wanted to remember. An entire saga of Dakota and I in rooms that shifted and turned to what he or I made them.

Rooms inside my head and his.

I remembered it _all_ now. It was barely a puzzle waiting to be solved now, as Dakota was no longer the unbeatable nightmare I once thought he was, but remembering made things no longer feel hazy. I'd been interrogated for what went through my head, for _what happened,_ before Dakota pulled the plug on my dreamer life. After running to the Archives in search of help I fell into another illusion right in front of the entire Council. I didn't know what happened in it after I woke, events blurry and everything fuddled, but now I did.

He poisoned me. I was in a prison cell, and he enacted the part of my abductor. He mocked and taunted me. I was sluggish and as the poison soaked through me, I became more and more deadened. I knew I was set to die. What I didn't know was the game he was playing. Dakota wanted me to stay afraid and to lose any will I had so that submission would be as easy to gain from me as a lollipop from a baby, and instead of getting what he wanted from me the pain of dying in his mental projection sent into instant slumber.

The slumber gave me a moment with my mother. I pushed her through Death's Doors, unable to be composed when she was saying things I always wanted to hear but knew she never would have told me. The bitter truth was that while alive my mother was distant from me. I did not think about her often. I was only six when I lost her. But in the years I _did_ have her, she wasn't the perfect mother I saw in the lives of other kids I knew. She didn't take Jared and me to the park to spend time together. She wasn't the one making dinner and tucking us in; it was our father, Dad _._ I liked to insert different in my head. I liked to think it was Mom who did all of those things, who did as mothers should, who loved her children with all her heart.

But that wasn't the reality. The reality was the one Dakota gave me and I rejected. When she was on her sickbed, she truly didn't want to see me and I was beginning to realize, if she was sick with anything she was just sick in the had to be why my father refused to let us near her. Why Dad got a tortured, pinched look on his face anytime I tried bringing her up. It wasn't pneumonia that took her life but there was still an illness in her that did the job just as efficiently.

 _I wish the memories would go away._

Remembering your mother as perfect was not burdensome. Knowing her as a walking, broken travesty was.

Dad had succeeded in distracting me from the truth, giving me the illusion that I had the perfect family before she passed.

Something beautiful to hold onto. A fabricated memory that left butterflies and not maggots in my stomach.

"What did she have?" I asked Dakota, knowing if anyone knew it'd be him. He probably went into her head at one point, before she could no longer live with herself.

Dakota's eyes flickered around on my face. I couldn't read him; I never was able to, effectively at least. He had this way of looking entirely invulnerable, but _everyone_ had a weakness. Monsters too.

 _You blame me?_ Me? _I offered her_ life, _Alissa._

Dakota's features stayed the same, even as mine crumbled and shifted.

He saw the now haunted look on my face and transferred his searching gaze to Roman who was now by his side, in front of me with sympathy etched into his every feature. Dakota said quietly, "What does any woman have when she can't bear to live anymore? She was depressed, horrifically so. Your father never gave the truth behind who he was until you and your brother were older. When he did, she reacted terribly—or so I hear. She told me when I entered the kitchen that she was unable to live with knowing her children would be deviants of what's considered normal."

So she had killed herself.

I felt like vomiting. It was the only plausible reaction to knowing I killed my mother by growing up to be this, an emissary. Without even being inhuman I was considered the worst possible scenario for someone normal like my mother.

Roman looked entirely caught off guard by Dakota's words. He gave me a look of compassion that was wholly unsettling on the face of someone so perfect, so otherworldly. I returned his stare, unshed tears shining in my eyes.

He truly felt sorry for me.

Dakota's face remained the same. And I wondered how he could possibly tell me this and not clarify any of the bullshit he gave me, the garbage that made no sense and I was going crazy trying to decode.

 _You don't make any sense, Dakota._

I opened and closed my mouth. "You said she wanted to be immortal," I accused him tearfully, tongue dry and sticking to the roof of my mouth. "But being like you means being a vampire. Why are you still _lying_?"

"I lied to you then," Dakota said, an admittance I hadn't expected him to give me. "She never wanted immortality. When I appeared to her in your kitchen she thought she was seeing an older version of your brother. She told me she wished she could take away whatever burden your father bestowed onto her children. She begged for me to take my own life so I wouldn't see myself become a monster and she held a knife to her own risks. You may find it surprising to know I tried persuading her not to take her own life for something so trivial."

My eyes went wide and I became stationary. It did surprise me.

"I lost my father while young," he continued and I could see he had an inkling I previously had learned that because of the way he looked at me, like he knew exactly what I did and didn't see from the memories I stole. "I wouldn't wish the same on a child."

My gaze sharpened. "You killed my grandfather," I said lowly. "You said you killed him when my Dad was young."

Dakota returned my gaze evenly. "I did kill him when he was young," he said. "I killed him in front of your father as a warning. My superiors demanded that I do a demonstration to indicate how serious I was— _am_ about destroying anything in my path to recruiting someone in my descendants' line. Your grandfather was disposal, old and mad as he was. Your father is strong and formidable. I won't lie when I say it was never you they intended to recruit. Targeting you was a strategy for gaining Richard's compliance."

It was always implied my father was exceptionally gifted. Maybe that's why it pained me so much when he refused to train me and acted like I was a child and not someone he needed to guide. If I never forced Jared to shift, I imagined that Dad wouldn't be so resistant; unfortunately I broke our trust before he could ever develop any sort of semblance to it for me.

I didn't trust him at all knowing what I knew. Hell, I trusted _Dakota_ more and he was a fucking villain hellbent on ruining everything for me. Dads were supposed to be the good guys, the heroes, the leaders. The more I was pulled into the supernatural world the more I lost my admiration for him, bit by bit.

It was a sad thought to stop loving your father. I still loved him, to some extent. I just didn't idolize him anymore and talking to friends about how nerdy and funny my Dad was seemed like an idiotic habit from eons ago.

"You acted as though I was the one you were after, and I believed you," I whispered, feeling my walls break down.

"You believe too easily, sweetheart," Dakota said in a light tone, looking over at Roman. Roman was silent and stoic, his face still unreadable. But I caught a glimpse of pain underneath the in-placed stillness. "It's what has taken you so long to know the truth."

I didn't know the truth. I didn't know the half of it. I knew the shit-shot explanations I was given by those I barely trusted. It was up to me in seeing what was true and what was false. I had to uncover cryptic bullshit and pretend I knew what I was doing, knowing I didn't have a clue.

Dakota had won his game with me. And I didn't trust him in the slightest. This strange moment where we talked outside of his mental and things were calm, it wouldn't last. It was never made to. Dakota was playing me and playing Roman, too. I saw that look on Roman's face. He thought the old Dakota he knew was showing his roots again.

I knew differently.

 _Fuck this._

"You can say all your pretty words and be the monster from storybooks and think you've sold the remorseful prisoner, but it doesn't change that I _know,_ Dakota," I said irately. I didn't hide any of my repulsion. "You said that you had chosen your bed once and couldn't just find a new one. Seems you've picked up a habit of that. You're _lying_ in your first choice now."

If he had nerves, they would have ticked in his face.

A charming, hideous smile curved up his lips. He stayed silent for several moments. "You were always right about one thing when it came to me, Roman," he whispered at last. "I am subservient."

I watched with undying terror as he pushed his hand out, sending Roman sailing past the trees. He hit one of them so hard that it made a sinister crack before falling. The tree came straight our way, crashing faster than any tree I'd ever seen. I panickily dived, Dakota following me gracefully. I felt him grab my arms in a fierce lock and things became a terrifying blur. _What the fuck is happening—_

Dakota stopped and released me onto the ground. A sickening crash sounded behind me. The tree had fallen and taken up the entire road we were just on. We were in the trees now.

He wrenched me up by the hair and he groped my face until he had his hands in a position that felt just like in the dream. Roman was nowhere to be seen.

Where was _anyone_?

I frantically glanced around, searching for anything that would mean I wasn't doomed. Unfortunately, it was just Dakota and I. Things seemed to be darkening, mirroring the storm in my head.

Where was Brandon and Kallie? Why didn't I hear their screams?

I thought they were in the house but facing the house now I saw no one in the windows.

Where was Paul? Where was Sam? Jared, Embry, _Dad_ —why wasn't anyone showing up? What happened to keep them clueless? Why were they not here?

It hit me, hard as bricks, that something had been fishy about everything since I first went outside of Kallie's house to confront Dakota. I was sure there was a forgotten memory where I went out into the woods to confront him and he changed my perception of reality to where I thought I was still there, near the road confronting the _real him._ Ignoring the lack of cars coming down the road and not questioning where everyone was, why no one came to my rescue. He made me think that I was still in my own reality, and it showed just how talented he was to give me self-delusion and for me never to notice any difference—

 _I'm not in my own head._

I wasn't in my own head.

Dakota saw the horror as it overcame me, but he didn't care. He never did. He was too far gone in his own delusions of grandeur.

"Don't worry, Alissa," he hissed at me, a cruel smile tweaking his lips. His fangs poked out, _taunting_ me. "Some of it was real."

I tried to protest but he wouldn't relent his grip, getting close enough that looking at him was all I could do.

Those fangs elongated, becoming like the long, talon-like incisors from nightmares.

When his mouth crashed down on my shoulder to incinerate me whole with venom, I could do nothing but convulse and _scream._

* * *

I came conscious on the floor of the woods, a scream still stuck in my throat.

Things were completely, utterly hazy for a few moments, my shoulder still searing with unimaginable pain and my jaw on fire, and I stayed on the floor in a fight I couldn't see. My eyes were shut tightly. There was this irrational fear I'd see Dakota when I opened my eyes. The flitting touches all over my body told me it wasn't irrational at all, not far from the truth. I thrashed out at the unforeseen monster that had its hands on me, begging it to leave me be, but my mouth would not open and the words stayed in my head. Thoughts I tried projecting to a force that would never know them.

 _Get away from me, go away, leave me alone—_

"Alissa, Alissa, it's me," someone said soothingly, not a monster at all. Maybe friendly—maybe not deadly. I could not know. I wasn't in the right state of mind to. "He cannot hurt you anymore. I'm here, I'll keep you save."

I cracked open my eyelids to see Roman, beautiful and stone-like, crouching above me. A monster wrapped in silk.

"You—you can't be real," I said, knowing that Dakota had conjured him up in the illusion. Whatever false shock he'd displayed—the anger, fear, and resentment, too—was all just a way to deceive me more into thinking anything he said or did wasn't fucking bullshit. "I'm still trapped."

"Alissa, you know my powers, do you not?" Roman pushed my hair down and gave me earnest eyes. I tried not shaking. "I am like Dakota, I suppose. I can enter your mind. I came upon you in the woods near the treaty line and I knew what was happening by the way you acted blindly. When I touched your head and entered your world myself, I forgot exactly how I came there. Dakota's always been extraordinary in making you forget your time and place, but I'd forgotten how so. I was meant to have met your father by the treaty line but I dragged you over and brought you to safety so we could talk when you snapped out of it."

I didn't respond to his explanation. All I focused my attention and energy on was the absolute throbbing that came from my shoulder, where I remembered clearly Dakota clamping his fangs down with the intention to _change_ me.

 _I can't become like him._

"Ro-Roman, I think he bit me," I said through gritted teeth, moving the arm that felt like it was on fire. "I don't know- I don't want- I'm, I'm scared."

Roman looked alarmed. I flinched and tried scuttling away when he hauled me upward. I watched blearily as he removed my flannel. He ripped off the sleeve of the long-sleeved shirt I had underneath in one fluid motion.

I moved my head to the side trying to see what exactly the pain was coming from, why it hurt so badly. The pain seemed to intensify when I saw the bite, shaped like teeth in the skin, a bloody, disgusting looking wound that would not heal with prayers.

Roman met my gaze. "You'll turn if I don't remove the venom," he said in a stern tone. _No, no._ I yanked my arm away futilely, Roman pulling me back in a grip that left no more room to wriggle away. "Alissa. If we leave it, you could die in this form and awaken into someone like me. You would lose everything. Do you want that?"

I shook my head, unable to speak. The pain kept getting worse and I wanted to scream again, I wanted to cry, I wanted to stay here to wither and die. Dakota had obviously done this and run because he assumed there'd be no way anyone could save me in time. Maybe he assumed Roman was not a savior and came only to see Dakota, not to fix what was targeting us.

He knew Roman was there, infiltrating the very illusion he put in place, yet he never questioned it. I remembered the look of shock on his face when he saw it; I assumed it was because he had not seen him in over a century. Really he hadn't anticipated Roman being there.

I'd been able to use my powers in his projection. I was usually so powerless, unable to do anything that could save me from what was undeniably going to end in my demise, always reacting like a child who could suddenly no longer move her arms—and Dakota delighted in it, I was sure. There had to be a reason I wasn't so powerless in this illusion—

I writhed, the fire in my bloodstream spreading. A sob locked in my throat and then, abruptly, I _was_ sobbing.

"Ro-Roman, _please_!" I howled, clawing with the hand of my safe arm at the arm that was burning. In a moment of mindless weakness I wished I could cut it off and remove the source of what was tormenting me. "P-Please, make it stop… it hurts, it hurts so much…"

I had never been in so much pain. This pain was different than all the physically uncomfortable situations I ever put myself in; it was one that spread through my entire body, not staying in one certain spot. Like the venom. A wound that had enough power that I was utterly weak in the face of fixing it, leaving myself to beg for mercy from anyone and anything that could make the pain stop.

The venom.

Not the poison.

He _poisoned_ me long ago, before things fell apart. It was why things fell apart. That, the poison, felt soft compared to now; it was a pain that made me woozy. This pain…

This pain was like a wildfire that couldn't be extinguished, and I was a helpless rabbit caught in the fray, unable to saved.

"Please hold still," Roman murmured, brushing my hair back again. I only cried more, unable to hold my eyes open any longer.

Cold hands pressed me onto my back. Even colder, even softer-feeling lips pressed to the skin of my shoulder, where skin went from normal-looking to bumpy. I knew he could see the scabs peeking out of my shirt, at the base of my throat. I hoped he didn't think much about them, if at all.

I felt pressure never before experienced where the bite was.

Pain could not even describe the feeling that zipped through me. I was aflame.

 _Burning,_

 _roasting,_

aflame _._

"S-top, stop, _stop_ ," I screamed, continuing to writhe underneath his strong hands. I didn't move at all but at least twitching at the legs deluded me into thinking I was saving myself. I wasn't saving myself, not a little bit, not even at all. I was at a standstill in space. Time was moving and so was I, so was every part on me. But it didn't feel like anything was happening. All that I felt was fire as it scorched through me, as it transformed me into an organism hellbent on survival, nothing else. _Save me,_ I begged the universe but only one person truly had that power. No God was looking down on me that day.

I was worsening in headspace as the seconds progressed. Roman kept his mouth pressed tight over my wound, invisible venom sucked through my bloodstream and out of the open skin. Into his mouth. Away from me, away from my body, away from _where it hurt_.

 _Please, I can't take this—_

Then the pain stopped. It didn't stop completely at once. The pain had once been searing and had taken my memories and replaced them with sensations of agony. It gradually lowered from intolerable to indifferent to unnoticeable, until I could open my eyes again and Roman's concerned amber gaze was all I saw—I involuntarily moaned upon seeing the world was clear again. The bite on my shoulder was completely numb.

"You're okay," Roman said in a voice he seemed to think was comforting, and he helped me sit up. I didn't remember falling. Maybe he'd laid me down during my episode of screaming fits, as he readied to extract the cause of agony.

"T-Tell me something… about you," I said breathily. My hand went up to grip his wrist. I looked at him pleadingly. "Please."

I was grasping for thresholds. I needed something to cling to that would ground me to this reality. I was not soothed, regardless of Roman saving me and him giving me human bedside care. It didn't matter. I still felt unsafe. The impression Dakota was somewhere initiating another illusion wasn't impossible, and I found myself thinking it wasn't far off from the truth.

Roman glanced down before looking back up into my eyes. "Before I was turned, I was a wealthy, happy man," he said in a soft tone, looking down at my hand gripping his wrist. "I lived at home with my pregnant wife and three dogs. Then smallpox came. It had taken the lives of two of my sisters and my father. My wife came next. We never got to see our precious girl."

 _Fuck._

"That… I'm so sorry." I gave his wrist a comforting squeeze he probably didn't notice. I still could not move my left arm but at least the arm completely unharmed could move, touch, and feel without consequences. "You- you've been through a _lot_."

Roman jerked his head once. I could see the thoughts still pained him. He must have loved Dakota the same way he loved his wife, and losing him made him remember his entire life falling apart. He did not want a repeat, I was sure.

"Thank you… Roman," I told him. "You're good. I'm sorry you went through that. I'm sorry Dakota didn't turn out to be what you wanted."

"He's still in there, Alissa," Roman said desperately. We stared at each other and I could see he truly meant that. He believed that Dakota wasn't just a spawn of the Volturi. I wasn't so sure. "I do not expect you to believe that, but please, if you have the chance, do not kill him. Leave him… with me. I will take him somewhere and teach him to be human again. He won't hurt anyone anymore—"

"He _bit_ me," I said, watching his eyes flicker down at my shoulder. The adrenaline had wore off and left a bitch of an aching in place. "He's put me through Hell. I've been through so many phases, you don't even know. I've tried humanizing him and it just doesn't work. He chases away what I think he is and becomes the monster the Volturi made him. He can't be both anymore, not after what he's done."

Roman gave me tortured puppy-dog eyes that made it hard to be angry and fixed on killing someone he used to love.

"Let's just find my Dad," I said, feeling tired. So tired. I was drained from everything, most of all the torture I'd just been put through. I wouldn't forgive Dakota for that. If he lived I wouldn't tolerate him ever returning; I'd ask him to leave and stay away forever.

"You can sleep, if you need to," Roman said nicely, helping me to my feet. I wobbled and nearly tripped over my own feet. The fatigue setting in was hard to ignore.

"No," I said abruptly. "Let's just… go before he gets here."

"Where to?" he asked.

I thought about it. "I think— _Sam's_. Maybe, Sam's. Somewhere around there… They'll, they'll smell you."

Roman put an arm around my waist, letting my good arm drop around his shoulder for support. Without any sort of warning he swept me off my feet and into his arms, giving great thought to where I was positioned so that it wasn't my bad arm pressed into his chest.

The world became a blur as Roman's inhumanly powerful legs pounded forward.

I clenched my eyes shut, avoiding the variations of color that flashed by my eyes. The wind came flying at me at speeds I never even thought possible and I felt my hair flap back into my face. That would have hurt if I hadn't kept my eyes closed. Roman was efficient, speeding through the trails and avoiding anything that could hinder him. I knew that vampires were fast, I knew they were strong, I knew they were intelligent, but both Roman and Dakota showed me different definitions than the make-believe ones I came up with in my head.

Dakota was dangerous, in ways you imagined the boogeyman when you were just a scared little kid. He carried himself like a living nightmare and he wore it well. He wore it so well, in fact, that sometimes I wondered if he was just as human as the rest of us and felt myself more scared than I would have been at just your average undefeatable monster. Roman, who had sounded too good to be true at first and then like a kinder, more empathetic Dakota, truly wasn't what my first or second impressions told me. He _was_ kind and he _was_ empathetic, but he was nothing like Dakota. _Nothing_.

I owed him more than a single favor, and I knew what one of them would have to be.

The trip to Sam's would be fast and short. We had already been going for thirty or forty seconds.

I felt Roman readjust his grip on me.

"I know where Sam's house is," he yelled over the fast winds. "I came here once before for the tribe's permission."

"I know," I said just as loudly. "But wouldn't you have met them at the treaty lines?"

Roman didn't speak for a moment. "Well, I—"

An ominous sound of something shooting through the trees, closer than I felt comfortable with.

 _What was-_

Roman was harshly knocked in the side and I was dropped and sailing to the ground before he could say another word.

 _Fuck—_ I thought, feeling like I just got the wind knocked out of me. When Roman lost his grip he was still running very quickly, and that made the fall even more painful because I was airborne for more seconds than if it was just a vertical fall. I ignored the pain and shielded my face with both my arms, covered in the thick flannel that was all I had to wear.

Rocks and solid dirt hit me everything on my front, and for several seconds I slid, gritting my teeth at the unbearable pain that echoed the time I hit the side of Bella's truck. It felt like lifetimes ago when that happened, but I knew it hadn't even been a month. This pain, coupled with the reopened wound from Dakota kicking my head (which should have imaginary, but I now knew he could make wounds real if he wanted to) and the bite, made every minuscule task now feel more another time of torture. I struggled getting up, shifting my arms from my face and digging my elbows into the ground. I could heard voices shouting behind me, but they were muffled—unrecognizable. I put all of my energy into pushing myself off the ground.

Failed attempt after failed attempt, I decided to try another tactic. I let my elbows rest on the ground until I felt my energy return, then I flipped myself over. It hurt for a long second, searing down my spine until everything was tingling like TV static, but I didn't stop there. I dug my elbows behind me and propelled myself forward.

I clumsily fell into an acute angle. Bearings came to me within the minutes I sat and breathed, and finally I put myself back at ninety degrees.

My gaze was bleary with stars of black and white flitting around the green and brown hues of the woods. I blinked, blinked until it was painful, blinked until my lower jaw—where my right ear was—began throbbing. I stopped, letting the stars disappear on their own, but I was already beginning to understand what had caused Roman to drop me-

I saw Dakota in front of me, this time _real, he had to be real._ He had to be real. Every single fucking time had been a fluke, so now had to be his final episode, right? This _had_ to be it. It was like a game where you faced doppelgangers of the bad guy in every chapter until the climatic showdown where he came and you could finally end everything right there. When it ended, it _ended_ and he wouldn't come back except for trashy sequels or reboots. Dakota was real, so if he was ended, he wouldn't return.

Unfortunately, I knew killing him was now a final resort.

Dakota was feet away when I saw a blur of a person rocket towards him and knock him off his feet. I flinched, digging my elbows back into the dirt, pulling my legs up so my knees were high, feeling like there had to be an option for me that didn't involve sitting ducks in the mud. I was covered in muck actually, from my neck down to my shoes, but that didn't matter at all. I didn't know if I had it in me to stand. Even though the venom was gone out of my bloodstream and the pain of hitting the ground was slowly leaving also, I still felt awful. My energy was at an all time low. That feeling where you get all the air walloped out of you, that had happened and it was still making my heart beat a mile a minute—

"You can't take this from me, Roman," Dakota shouted. I watched as he hit Roman in the chest, pushing him so hard that he knocked into a tree with a sickening crack. _Just like the illusion, just like the illusion, just like the illusion,_ I kept thinking. Unable to stop or quit. Roman made no sound, instead getting up without recovering and throwing himself back at Dakota again. I watched them fight, hits and kicks going everywhere. There was no way to watch it knowing what was going on because of how unbelievably fast their reflexes were, their hands and feet going at speeds that their consciences couldn't counter, I was sure. "You rejected this lifestyle, but this is the only one I've known—you can't take this!"

"Killing and fighting? Hurting innocent people and ruining their lives?" Roman snarled in return, and I heard another crack as one of them hit the mark on the other. Another, more vicious snarl came from Dakota. "That isn't a life, even for someone who lives forever. It's miserable! I know you don't like doing this, Dakota; I _know_ you—"

"You don't know _anything_ about me!" Dakota said so loudly it sounded like a scream had ripped from him. I flinched back, horrified, as he grabbed Roman by the neck. He took him to the ground, and Roman wriggled and fought underneath him, hissing to be freed. Dakota's back was turned to me, arched, his jacket flying behind him because of the winds. "They respect me—"

"Respect is not love, Dakota," Roman yelled. "Respect is cold and callous. It is work-place favor, and it will never give you anything more than new missions and praises. You want to be _loved_ , Kota."

His voice got softer in the end.

After new attempts to stand, I finally crunched my knees in and used both arms to get to my feet. I stumbled back into a tree and held my place there, in a trance. My eyes couldn't move from the train-wreck in front of me.

I was scared for Roman more than I had been for myself when that killer stalked toward me.

Dakota seemed tense, and I saw that he still had a hand around Roman's throat. But Roman wasn't struggling. I knew he had probably accepted whatever Dakota decided to do, and that's when it finally, _finally_ set in for me. _He loves him._

Even a bastard like Dakota had to know, see the signs.

"You do not know what you're saying," Dakota said in a low, tense voice. I opened my mouth, putting out my hand hoping desperately powers would come without my prompting; _I know what is coming. He's going to kill him. Please, please, if you're out there, ancestors—don't let this happen. He's not a bad guy._ I thought he was when Dakota was saying whatever popped into his head, but I didn't now; resentment could make anyone into a villain. "You should know by now, Roman, that I don't love you. I will _never_ love you."

I saw Roman close his eyes and Dakota put both hands around his throat, preparing to tear his head off.

I pushed off the tree and started forward. "No, don't—" I shouted.

Something else came to the rescue in my place.

A loud growl came from the tree lines, and I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I turned. There, looking at Dakota predatorily, was a large, black wolf with golden eyes. It moved with grace, tall as a horse and muscular—more muscular than any average-looking wolf I saw on television. I was already perfectly aware what creatures stalked these woods, and they were anything _but_ average. I knew instantly that this was one of the pack.

When it opened its mouth to howl, dagger-like teeth tauntingly gleaming at me, I knew it was _Sam._

Only an Alpha would look and carry himself like that.

Dakota did not notice anything except the intention he had to kill Roman until Sam howled, but already it was too late. He launched out of the trees, a mass of black that was more graceful than anything I'd ever seen, and attached himself to Dakota, tearing him away from Roman. Roman got off the ground and blurred over to my side before falling to the ground again in a heartbroken heap.

I heard more howls and more pounding footsteps, and I looked behind me. Dakota's screams and furious struggling in Sam's teeth became secondary. Coming from behind me and out of the trees were more massive shapes, all taller than me and as huge as bears. All three of them had gray in their coats. One was a sleek brown with gray that surrounded his dark eyes. Another was completely gray with a nose that was dark, almost black. The last one—most recognizable to me—was a dark silver with brown eyes I'd know anywhere.

 _Jared, Embry, and Paul._

Behind them, following in a long black shirt and worn jeans, was my father.

"Get the fuck off me," Dakota screamed, and I looked back over. I saw Sam viciously tearing at his clothes, exposing the skin underneath that had grown pale from the russet it was before he turned. Dakota seemed to be fighting ineptly. But why? He was efficient and knew it, too; there was no reason for him to flail and act like a complete fool. He wasn't even _hitting_ Sam; his arms and legs were "missing" the mark, any mark, a mistake I couldn't tell whether was calculated. There had to be something causing him to be as incompetent as a child.

Sam grabbed hold of the exposed skin on Dakota's arm and I knew he was going to rip it off. That's what they did—they killed vampires. They ripped them apart and enjoyed doing it.

I quickly looked down at Roman. He was staring back at me desperately, with eyes that outshone the moon. They were _glassy,_ like he'd cry if he could.

 _I owe him more than a single favor._

Roman's eyes, blinded by love. That same desperation. _He's still in there, Alissa... if you have the chance, do not kill him._

Roman had saved my life; I didn't want to condemn him to never-ending suffering. He had already lost his wife and child. This would re-open a wound.

I took a deep breath and screamed, "STOP!"

Everything lost motion. I saw Sam stop what he was doing, Dakota's arm still firmly in place. The wolves behind me and my father all looked shocked, staring at me confusedly. Roman underneath me was staring up with a look that said he, too, was confused—but there was gratitude there as well. He was probably thinking I hadn't forgotten that favor he asked of me.

I nudged my head in Dakota's direction. The confusion wore off from Roman's face and he gave me a grateful smile. I didn't move my gaze as he stood from the ground at a human pace and walked over to Sam and Dakota.

Upon his approach, Sam lowered his head further and his haunches rose, a warning growl escaping him. Roman must have murmured his intentions to the wolf and had the look of someone who was non-threatening because Sam lost the hostile aura. Roman crouched beside Dakota, who had stopped struggling and was now haughtily eying the world around him. I craned my head different ways to see what was exactly happening.

Dakota said angrily, "Release me, _mutt_ , or you will see what sort of pain I'm capable of-"

Sam huffed in response. I watched Roman bring his hand down on Dakota's head, running his fingers through the other vampire's dark, tousled hair.

Dakota sneered up at him. Roman didn't lose the tender look, continuing to pat down his hair and stare at him fondly; I wondered if he was half-crazy, to not see the contempt on the other man's face. Then I realized just what love did to a person. It made you into a fool.

"There is no reason to fight, Kota," Roman said softly. "You can leave it all behind and run away, with me."

A broken laugh came from Dakota where he laid vulnerably, caught in the teeth of a wolf who could easily rip him limb from limb, and the man he hated for over a century still declaring his own love with action. I watched hate fester in his blood-red eyes.

"I never loved you," he hissed meanly, and Roman's motions faltered. "I always wanted a purpose. After I ran from home I searched all over for it and unfortunately I came upon a bar. I felt useless. When you took me into your bed it made the pain disappear, but only temporarily. You were always a temporary fix. I wanted a purpose and becoming immortal still did not give me one. Staying with you did not give me one. The Volturi gave me one.

"That is why," he continued, his hateful, loathsome glare never leaving Roman's, "you will never matter to me, Roman."

Roman took his hand away from Dakota's hair. There was an unreadable look on his face.

 _Not all of that was true,_ I thought, frowning, hoping Roman knew himself so that things would hurt less. _Dakota isn't emotionless. He's just programmed to be a bastard._

I watched Roman stand up and turn his back on Dakota, his face crumbling until it showed him to be as internally tortured as I predicted. "I know," he said.

Roman gave me a nod when I met his gaze, and I took that for him accepting defeat. Dakota was too far gone to save. He wouldn't back down, either.

I opened my mouth to confirm this. But then…

The scariest moment in my life occurred.

Dakota let out a hiss and before I could yell at Sam to take cover, Dakota was moving fast and hitting Sam in the face so hard he had no choice but to yelp and remove his teeth from Dakota's arm. Dakota picked Sam up—a feat that left me utterly terrified—and threw him into a tree, a loud yelp coming from the wolf as he made contact. No sickening crack this time, just a thump as Sam's body fell in a pile to the ground. The monster turned his frightening, deadly gaze on the next nearest target.

He just so happened to make eye contact with me.

"You don't have to do this," I shouted, moving back. Roman moved himself in front of me, his arm coming back as though to protect me. It gave me no sense of comfort; I was wary, scared for Roman and what would happen if he were injured beyond repair by the man he loved. Dakota, if anything, looked even more determined, switching his gaze between me and the stone wall protecting me.

I let the fear accumulate inside me, remembering what he said. _Anger and fear. Anger and fear. Control._ I would use them both as a weapon, to save myself and everyone here—but the only one I had in abundance was fear.

I looked down and saw my hand glowing. But deep inside I knew I wouldn't be able to do anything heroic.

"Once you are under their control, nothing stops them from destroying you if you fail," Dakota said coldly. He walked to us at human speed, regarding Roman and me with cool intensity. "I will not fail. I said once I was afraid of death."

What went unsaid wasn't hard to figure out: _I am still afraid now._

Roman stepped forward to meet Dakota. "Right in front of her father?"

Dakota made a face that looked like a sneer. "It's not as if I haven't done it before," he said.

Vague horror ran through me as he grabbed Roman by the throat for a second time and threw him where Sam was struggling to stand up. Paul, Embry, and Jared behind me jumped forward, growling menacingly. They knew what Dakota intended to do. Unfortunately for them, Dakota was experienced—and lethal. He'd failed for over a century in obtaining someone from my bloodline for a fresh recruit. Failing again was not an option anymore.

I met Dakota's eyes one final time, the wolves behind us background noise. "Maybe you are truly dead, after all," I said, rubbing my sore shoulder.

Dakota smiled a smile that didn't reach his crimson eyes. "Immortals do not get happy endings," he said.

I curled my fist, knowing I would have to fight my way through this. My body wouldn't be able to handle another bite.

 _Anger and fear._

 _Control._

Dakota sprinted at me and I closed my eyes. There would be no time to concentrate all my power into my palm, then let it unleash as he was feet away; he was already close, closer than I was comfortable with. I had heard the wolves behind me jolt forward, knowing with his last words he would pounce and I would potentially die—

I snapped open my eyes a second after they closed, to see what fate awaited me.

But I was not the one in his line of sight anymore.

My father had jumped in front of me after Dakota's final words, and he had been ready for a fight.

What happened instead led me to cry out in anguish, the clock now going in slow motion.

Dakota had stopped in front of my father, and they both unleashed what they were capable of at the same time. My father had his hand raised and out from it came a lethal, beautiful chestnut brown wolf that was translucent. It howled as it got bigger and brighter at the cup of my father's hand.

Dakota reached his hands forward and grabbed Dad's chest in his hands, crushing it, at the same time that my father's wolf shot into Dakota's head, turning it a searing white for several seconds.

Dakota screamed and fell to his knees; I fell to my knees and grabbed at my Dad's fallen form; Dad screamed himself and clutched helplessly at where his chest had been crushed. Then he fell too.

I heard the pack shift one by one, Sam—Sam—shouting for Embry to run and get Sue. _Sue._ I heard Paul shouting, saying that we should kill Dakota. They were already restraining him, Embry ran off to find help, but the only one— _the only one_ —who stumbled over and fell to his knees beside me was Jared.

Jared.

I looked over at him, tears shining in my eyes at the despairing events that just happened. Jared was at the movies with Kim and must have come as soon as Sam smelled Dakota and Roman in the area and linked him to say so. He knew I was in danger, and I knew he probably kicked himself for not forcing me to get a ride. I hated myself for it too. I was relieved that he was here, but also broken—broken, because I had no hope; broken, because we had already lost our mother and couldn't lose our Dad, too; broken, because we'd only become family again and Dad was not part of that in my head until now. Now, I didn't care of how he wronged me. Looking down at his broken chest, I was praying to any divine being to miraculously fix him and save Jared and I from being orphans.

Magic was not real.

Miracles were not real.

Jared was naked, but neither of us cared; he put his arm around me and I leaned into his shoulder with my good one. He had tears in his eyes too.

Dad was choking on his own blood, looking up at us with glazed eyes. I quickly put my hand on his, interlacing our fingers.

"D-Dad, you're not—" I cut myself off. He was dying. No one could survive this without immediate medical assistance and Embry would not be back with Sue for several minutes. I had no hope. This was hopeless. Everything about this screamed, _Nothing good will come._ If our bloodline allowed healing, I would be desperately attempting resuscitating him with all my might, but he was nearly unresponsive. He wasn't saying anything to us, choking and barely breathing. "You can't die, you _can't;_ I love you. I love you, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything I've done, or said, and I'd take it all back if you could just—"

Roman appeared on my father's other side and dropped down beside him. He glanced over his broken chest cavity with an entire face that dripped of sympathy. I knew this was serious. I knew by the way he looked helplessly over at me that I needed to say my goodbyes and hope he found peace. But this couldn't be it.

It couldn't end like this.

I was readying myself to burst into another set of tears when I heard Dakota scream again. I looked over to see him clutching at the strands and pulling. His head was shining, fucking _shining_. He hunched down and screamed again before the same golden-shone wolf seeped from his head. I glanced away then back over through blurry eyes to see the wolf change, shifting into Taha Aki.

Taha Aki.

I watched as his spirit hovered for a moment, looking around before coming to us. I watched him crouch, his furs hanging off him like a second skin, beside Roman.

Taha Aki was flickering like a light. His golden hues were fading with every second, and the more I stared at him the more translucent he became. It scared me.

I gasped out, "Are you- are you dying, too, Taha Aki?"

He smiled grimly at me. "A warrior only dies once," he said. He looked down at Dad, frail and bruised. "And your father will not die today."

My father's eyes had closed and he was only breathing softly now, the pace getting slower with every breath. He was close now; I had no time.

I blinked, saying, "He—he has no chance. Dakota, he blew out his chest. How can you…"

"I am a powerful spirit, Alissa," Taha Aki informed me. "I am capable of many things. I would explain everything, but I am afraid we do not have much time before you lose your father and I am called to the other side."

The other side.

 _That's why he's flickering—he's going to disappear forever now._

Taha Aki put his hand on my father's chest, and I watched him glow the same gold. Taha Aki's hand then began slowly transcending through my father, leaving the skin and entering the body itself. I watched, transfixed and horrified and my face a snot-covered mess, as the light disappeared from Taha Aki as his spirit entered.

Dad's chest seemed to be shifting, regaining its shape. His breathing was still sharp and splintered, but as Taha Aki entered, I heard ribs crack and return to normal, bones growing back—assumedly all destroyed organs retaining their own shapes and returning to their places. Taha Aki was _healing_ him.

What had he done to Dakota, to make him scream like that? _To lose his shape?_

I felt horror return to me as I realized what this meant, actually meant. Taha Aki was losing his power by using it here, using too much of it.

Jared beside me sputtered out, "I can see the light, o-on his chest."

A reaction come too late. But Jared was not like me; even in his worst times he calculated risks and observed instead of falling apart like I did. We were both messes now, but his was a head mess-not a blubbery mess. Me, however; thinking was secondhand. My head was a mess and everything was all in the moment. I barely remember what happened here. Things started and ended fast. It hurts to think about now as it did then.

Taha Aki smiled softly at Jared, who could not see him but only his glow. His entire arm was now gone and his head was about to go through too. He then looked at me. "I lost much of my power going into that abyss of a head Dakota had," he told me. "You can ask more from your father about what was done. I will tell you all I can before I leave. Dakota does not remember his time with the Volturi. Your father and I found an entry from Arcus that told of how to discard the dark parts of one's memories. You've extracted some yourself, but he still had the bits and pieces. You know his darkness. I have done a full extraction. For Dakota here, he only remembers his time with Roman and before. Everything else… is no longer concrete.

"I will have to leave the physical world now, Alissa," Taha Aki told me, the golden light now up to the corner of his mouth. "You are a fast learner. I have faith."

I couldn't bring myself to say, _Goodbye._

I watched his face disappear into my father's chest, and as his head fell in, the rest of his body completely disappeared. The afterparts of his form seeped into Dad like morphine. I stared at his chest, startled to see it was completely intact under his ripped and destroyed shirt. Dad coughed and I hurried to wipe at the corner of his mouth with my flannel. Some of the blood came off, but there was still a sticky stain that went all around his lips.

I watched his chest for a while, unable to think about much. I was frazzled and could not comprehend what just happened. Dad was breathing steadily, no signs of distress. Even, deep breaths. Safe breaths.

 _He's going to be okay,_ I thought, and gave Jared a squeeze when he looked over at me, thinking the same thing.

Roman got up and went over to Dakota, reassuring him that things were fine. Dakota was lucid now and repeatedly asking Roman where he was and what had happened, as though this _was not his fault._ Indeed Taha Aki had taken his memories. All he remembered was his childhood and Roman.

The dark parts of his conscience were gone.

This left the enemy we'd faced for years gone. Gone. We were safe now. It was all over.

I heard pounding steps and turned my head, watching Embry fly forward with Sue on his back. Once he was close, she dropped off from his back and stumbled over her own two feet. She cried out upon seeing Dad on the ground and she ran and dropped by his head.

She looked utterly perplexed at the sight of no injury, just faded hints at what once was there.

She looked over at me in confusion. But I had no more words.

I looked over where Paul had been restraining Dakota, to see Roman was holding him instead and talking to him hushedly. Paul was standing in his wolf form and staring at me. I saw his concern easily, those deep brown eyes always having been readable. I saw something else too. I knew whatever it was, it was warm and beautiful—and something I liked.

He was safe and we'd finally get to go on stupid picnics and watch horror movies and listen to shitty rock music together—and neither of us would be afraid the lose the other because of it.

The relief of all of us being alive and getting to enjoy life again was apparent and the one thing I held onto. The only thing I could hold onto, in that moment.

 _It's all over._

* * *

A/N: I keep thinking about how one of my friends got to go to this camp I applied for in high school for creative writing and I got rejected from it and it makes me want to fucking kill myself :D if I ever disappear off the web it's because depression finally capped my ass

Anywho, how was this? This was long asf and idek why, but hopefully it was… decent. Pretty sure it's mediocre but hey, that's my trademark-being bad at everything

Up next (if I don't delete this book first :D): flashbacks of what happened after this chapter, Paul/Alissa, learning about imprints FINALLY, pack bonding, and… Jacob shifting (!)

Sorry for being a disappointment I hate myself goodbye


	19. Chapter XIX

| The Human Condition |

Chapter XIX: Cruising for Bruises

 **"** When you're not looking, somebody'll  
sneak up and write 'Fuck you' right under  
your nose. **"**

 _The Catcher in the Rye,_ J.D. Salinger

* * *

 **RETURNING TO NORMAL** was fucking hard.

There was this _gap_. It wasn't in my heart or my head or anywhere really, so maybe I was imagining things to make readjusting harder than it was. But if it had a place, it was as a ghost: unable to be seen or heard but felt all the same. The way anyone felt when the sun disappeared and their shadow did too, Dakota left and the memory of him stayed; unshakable paranoia followed me everywhere and little itchy kisses traced all over my body as I continued life. Dakota left me like that, wondering where he'd gone, when any trace of him would leave permanently.

It made me think about freshman year and all the shitty finals in May. The first week after school let out, I couldn't cope. I woke up thinking about Mrs. Myers's presentation on objects used to communicate with in the 1800s due on Wednesday, realizing after I stared unblinkingly up at the ceiling for prolonged minutes that it was actually due _last_ Wednesday. It was an unending cycle that only ceased when the midway point in summer arrived and I immersed myself in pool days and movie marathons.

This was like that. Dakota had only really been around for two or so weeks, yet he had a massive impact, leaving no stone in my life unturned. Every soul he touched was rattled, even Sam who I used to think was as stoic as a rock. My dumb past self (who died just last month, God rest her soul) took to thinking she was fearless and had nothing that scared her to a state of poop-your-pants terror, but nothing was scarier than the photogenic face of nightmares reappearing in reality. Well, besides reality being a stimulation, but that was an irrational phobia for another time. Right now, I just wanted his phantom to disappear along with the bad memories that accompanied it. He didn't know a thing about the Hell he put any of us through, ancestors included; we all had to brace the fall in his wake, yet his footsteps never faltered a bit. There was a chip in his step, of all things. He was happily cozied up in Seattle with Roman, set to join in his traveling magic business and be taught about the strange set-up of modern-day technology. Fucker.

Yeah. Fucker. My little slip of character back three days ago still provoked me. I should have let Sam kill him, instead of letting Taha Aki strip his bad energy and leave him a flexible shell. If Roman couldn't keep him on a leash, it wouldn't be long before the Volturi got another hand on him and we were back where we started. Boom, butterfly effect—except in reverse.

I was probably the only one of the friends and fans experiencing a gap. If anyone faced his final attack the hardest, it was me. And I'd never had anything like it. I was used to battles that came in the shape of my father's terrible sense of humor (he was dryer than a Californian drought) and Jared's douche tendencies. Jacob was a war all on its own, what with his lifelong hatred of me (And for what? Probably the mud I stuffed down his pants after he wouldn't stop throwing mud-pies to impress Bella Swan...). Kallie hadn't talked to me since I got dragged into the woods by Dakota; I saw her at school and everything, but she really, really begrudged me for whatever I said so she'd just go about her day ignoring me. In Art, she paired up with Erica for our mid-semester portrait project. Erica! Mouthy freshman numero uno! I had to admit, I was offended. It caused me dubious amounts of hurt. I wanted to immediately march over there and demand she forgo the petty act and act like a grown-up, handle things like a _grown-up,_ but hey. If she wanted to turn a blind eye to how I almost died, she could be my fucking guest. I'd make sure to let Embry know he was crushing on Jacob's double. Maybe it'd convince him to go after someone a little less of a Paris Hilton.

There, I said it. Embry reciprocated her feelings. It was like Kim and Jared all over again, and I mean _just like._ It was vomit-inducing all the way around. Barf.

Sure, Paul and I were boyfriend and girlfriend... we made eyes at each other occasionally... we made out in my Dad's car... but no way in Hell did either of us fawn over the other and lose all concentration for the world around us. Maybe with our tongues down each other's throats we felt like it, but then the feeding frenzy ended and all the glitz and glamor of a _The Notebook_ romance faded with the lust.

Ah-ha—average thoughts of a teenager! Thank God, I was beginning to think nothing would ever feel the same.

Normal. What a funny thing. Was _anything_ normal or did I confuse the word with "usual?"

There were things I tried to forget in the aftermath. Dad woke up about twenty-six hours after Roman and Dakota left, and he didn't want to speak to _anyone_ , strangely enough. He refused to see me or Jared. His own children! The only one allowed in the room was Sue, and Dad specified that anything they discussed—if anything—be between the two of them. I didn't know exactly what crawled up his ass and died, unless it was some freaky side effect from being saved by what felt like voodoo magic. Taha Aki said to ask Dad about what they did to take away Dakota's memories, but the man himself didn't want anything to do with anyone at the moment—and Taha Aki was _gone._ Gone like a corpse buried six feet deep twice over. I couldn't ask him whatever I needed to know, the things incapacitated Richard Cameron probably wouldn't tell me until the day I died if even then, and he wouldn't be able to train me. Neither of them would. I was worried that this would end up the worst possible way it could, and I'd _never_ be trained; instead, I'd just have powers that made their appearance only when I was seething or terrified. If we had more feats to conquer, what exact use would I be?

Who else could I even turn to? Taha Aki was the only spirit I'd ever talked to, aside from that gibberish-speaking woman outside Pic-Pac. She... felt more like an illusion than an actual ancestral spirit, though.

I was fed up, done and dusted. I tried not thinking about the pressing matters. I turned my attention to stupid things I fussed about before any of this even happened. Jared this to Paul that and that assignment on the Pythagorean theorem due Thursday to my room needing a deep clean pronto. I wanted a return to normalcy. The supernatural shit would stay like it was, with me and my only family all out of the ordinary in some way or another, but at least I could feel safe or maybe have some sense of humanity returned to me. I wasn't a wolf, but I was part of the pack now. Someday they expected me to be a full-timer, running the Archives and utilizing my knowledge to keep pack territory safe.

If Dad committed to teaching me how to use my powers correctly, I'd never be able to leave. And expectations were never my strong suit in meeting.

It had been three days since I was bitten and Dad had his chest crushed. The days felt longer than ever, minutes feeling like hours and hours like days. I spent my time in the evenings either in my room reading and working on homework or outside doing whatever the weather permitted. Paul was always on patrol, sometimes at Emily's. I didn't want to really go anywhere. It wasn't the inherent fear that a new force was coming to inherit Dakota's spot in terrorizing me, but it was something similar; I didn't want to be anywhere that was outside my comfort zone. It was a new development. An annoying development. It made me cling to what I knew and hate the unfamiliar

Here I was, three days later, somewhere different and with someone who felt safe.

I swung my legs back and forth. "What kind of couple are we?" I asked, looking over at the temperamental wolf accompanying me.

We were "stranded" in the woods on another night of never-ending patrol, and the only reason I was here was to unhelpfully oblige Paul's indirect request that I _mis_ direct him from his duties. Paul had begged me to go home so neither of us would catch the end of Sam's tirade for fun and games during patrol, but I assured him that Sam didn't scare me. I was telling the truth; he didn't scare me. But he _did_ intimidate me. Thank God the Alpha command didn't work on non-shifters, otherwise I'd probably cower when he did inevitably yell at me. He was like top dog in a breed-circle-gang, befit with a cigar and a deeper-than-average voice. All it'd take was a spiked collar to send me scampering for a tree.

I asked Paul my question seriously. In the midst of committing a self-done exorcism against Dakota's demons living inside me, I also thought about the different dumb teenager things in my life, one of which was relationships. Kim and Jared were the sappy, PG-13 rated couple no one wanted to be around when they were together. Kallie and Embry, when they eventually got together, would be similar, but they'd be a little more sappy, a little less slobber-prone. Emily and Sam were your average domestic couple that still liked a little PDA every now and then. Paul and I were the suave, cool-kids couple cult lovers saw in movies like _True Romance_ and _Heathers._ Conveniently both had Christian Slater the male lead. Paul was not as naturally charming, but he did have a lusty appeal that could swoon ladies to death, so... were they drastically different? Not at all.

 _Stop. Why do you think so much?_

Ah, the implied "Stupid dumbass" from my sub-conscience. I almost missed having it said straight to my sub-face.

"Well?" I pressed, displeased when Paul hadn't said a thing.

Paul stretched his arms back with a sigh, crossing them behind his head in an x-shape. The line of his sleeveless shirt rose up, exposing the line of hair that ran down—

 _Dear Jesus, Mary, Joseph, the sheep, and the fucking manger, please give me strength in this time of dark, unheavenly thoughts. And how are you seeing this in the dark? Are you that much of a fucking pervert that you have natural night vision?_

I quickly turned my gaze, deadpanning my face so as to avoid suspicion. Perhaps Paul saw me, with his heightened wolf vision, but denial was every girl's best friend.

"We're a couple," he said smoothly, ignoring my less-than-subtle eyeballing. A glory of deadpan words, mushed together to gift me a Paul-saturated remark. Urgh. I both loathed and adored it.

"When I ask for a kind, you give a kind. What, if I ask for your favorite cake, you'll say, 'Cake?'" I rolled my eyes. When I cut my eyes back, cleansed of his v-line, Paul had a clueless look adorning his face. I rolled my eyes again. "Of course you would. You're lucky you're attractive. That dumbassery of yours will only be cute for as long as your _face_ is."

Paul smirked. "I'll be the local nursing home's eye candy," he boasted to me, adjusting himself against the oak tree behind his back. We were swinging our legs on a dislodged log, and the log hung against another tree. "Guess that means I'll never lose my cute face."

What a dunce.

I made a face. It was ugly, and it kind of looked like James Franco's smile—if his smile was a clumsy grimace. It looked good on a man of his facial dimensions, but on a girl who could easily pass for a Gremlin, it was... unnatural, to say the least.

Paul didn't comment on the atrocity I just allowed, and I, a warrior, said insistently, "If you won't say it, I will. We're the cool couple. I'm funny, you're a dog-bone away from running out with the Cocker Spaniel down the road, we're dysfunctional to say the least, but at least we're _exciting._ " I scowled. The petulant side of me unleashed. "No one wants to watch Jared and Kim rub noses for the fifteenth time in an hour and huddle close on the couch watching stupid-ass _zombie_ movies—"

"Whoa, Cocker Spaniel?" Paul released his arms, a bone cracking at the movement, and one went straight towards me, his big hand grasping onto my shoulder. He made his own face, this one visibly less ugly. "When did you start making dog puns? Wait—who's the Cocker Spaniel?"

 _Photogenic assholes piss me off,_ I thought angrily, ignoring whatever he just said. I roughly shouldered his hand away. "Take your photogenic face and whack it into a tree."

Instead of doing as I asked, Paul brought my head into a noogie.

"Hey—what the Hell, Paul; cut it out!" I felt whatever witty remarks I had at the base of my throat die completely out, ruining the train I had going of "funny things Alissa recommends you say" cut-out cards. The noogie took the humor and turned it into a thirty-second treat to alien audiences across the galaxy watching of Alissa Cameron, disintegrated, beaten, degraded, _abused_ at the monstrous hands of her treacherous lover. Death by noggin-rub. Heh, noogie, noggin, was I just realizing this now? _Ahem._ Oh, the horror— "I hate you, Paul. I despise you. I want to laser-shoot you into the next galaxy—not world, _galaxy_. I want to make donuts out of your intestines. Stop _rubbing so hard, you oaf_ —"

"Sorry, what was that? 'Rub so hard, I choke?'" I could hear the laughter in Paul's voice, the unhidden grin. He was enjoying my misery, as all traitors did when they stabbed a knife through the back of someone who put enough trust in them to kill a hog. "Speak up, Lissy, I can't hear you."

I scowled, imagining his head on a spike. Sometimes he was a treasure, sometimes he felt like back acne. I was two short seconds away from kicking him off this log and watching his descent to the forest floor. I'd laugh, of course, and envision the fall to be much longer, just so I could avoid the disappointed reminders of his wolf powers, to take a while longer in reveling in his pain. My current pain was deserving of revenge. I fucking hated getting my scalp touched, and it put a special brand of poison in my heart having the touch _tug._

"I can't believe I ever made out with you, you're like a child," I said angrily, thrashing under his grip. Eventually, after one of my elbows dug into his gut, he released me and I finally got to recover, my scalp burning against the fluttery touches I applied to it. I deepened my scowl. Painful, yes—vital to my anger, also yes. "That's like kissing a six-year-old. God. I don't think I'll kiss you again for another twelve years."

"Jared was right," he mused, not even reacting to my threats. Well, the way I wanted him to react.

I eyed him for a moment, trying to dissect his body language for the answer. "About what?"

"We're imprints because we both have anger issues," Paul said without missing a beat.

I frowned.

There was that word again—imprints. For a while I wasn't exactly sure what they were. Jared had mentioned that's what Paul and I were back during our bedside conversation, but I didn't really think on it. I didn't think on it the week after that, and sometimes it briefly rang a bell in my mind but I always got distracted by other pressing things so "imprints" got pushed to the back of my priorities. Paul saying it now brought all the questions and confusion to the surface. Imprints had to be something relevant to shifting, otherwise what could they even be? An inside joke?

At previous bonfires I remembered their mention. Dad even said when I was younger that imprinting was like love with a foundation to build it off. So thinking that over now, it wouldn't exactly surprise me if an "imprint" was just a fancy animal word for "soul mate." And since Paul had yet to dump me, it was safe to bet I was his imprint exactly like Jared said. Obviously. I wasn't an idiot.

"Oh, the wolf soul mate thing?" I nodded my head along, previous rage forgotten. "Makes sense. Who the fuck else would deal with you when you're a hot second from going ballistic?"

Paul seemed to think about it. "I'm sure there's some girls who'd be down," he said, shrugging when I shot him my best "Are you serious?" expression.

"If we're talking for longer than a week, believe me, I'm the only one," I said. "You being attractive only puts enough patience in one person."

Paul smirked. "I appreciate the compliment."

"Sorry, here, I'm not a big fan of that smirk." I put on a lightbulb-inspired smile. "You have a big head and I hate your fashion sense."

"Can't hate something I don't have," Paul said, not losing that smirk. "I have a great sense of your weak spots."

To prove his point, he reached out and pressed his fingers into my armpits. I was immediately hit with a spasm. I dramatically flailed backward, yelping at the contact, and almost fell off if it wasn't for that same fucking hand yanking me into its owner's naked chest.

Paul was laughing. I hit him hard in the shoulder.

"I wish I did fall," I told him sweetly, the sweetness marinated in anger. "Your guilt tastes like the blood of innocents."

"You sound like a fucking leech," Paul said, disgust written on his face.

"Just the persona I was shooting for. Thanks for confirming."

Paul's frown lines got even more prominent. I just smiled. Smiled, smiled, smiled. His discomfort was all I needed.

My head rang with endless possibilities of thoughts to dwell on and bring to the conversational table in light of almost falling to my doom. I perked up.

"My bite's getting better," I told him, reaching up to pull down the black long-sleeve I was wearing. He didn't ask for it, but here was a visual anyway. I brought the collar down to my elbow, astounded by the stretchy quality of my shirt. I glanced up to see if Paul was looking where I wanted him to, and a brief feeling of satisfaction hit me when he was. "See?"

Paul had a dark look on his face. He got closer, examining the wound. His hands twitched like he wanted to reach forward and grope at my shoulder, but he held back. I was glad for it. Sure, I liked him touching me, but not where a vampire put his mouth on me. Soap had done its justice in removing anything to hint a vampire had his way, but still.

I impatiently stared at him.

Paul's nose scrunched up. "You shouldn't have stopped Sam from killing him," he said.

Expected response. I shrugged. "Well, I didn't. He's gone anyway. Why does it matter?"

"The only good leech is a dead leech," Paul said, an unreadable stare in place. I was so good at reading him, too-why was he hiding himself from me now? I frowned. "If he comes back through here, he's free game."

"Yeah, okay," I said dismissively. "I hate him as much as the next person, but hey, as long as he's out of my sight I'm good to live and let live."

Maybe he'd stay in my thoughts for a while, but that didn't mean it was impossible to move on. Or...

So I told myself.

My thoughts drifted again. My fingers loosened, the collar flicking back enough to meet my neck. I ignored Paul and only partially heard his disdain-dripped words. I went back to sending Dakota off.

* * *

 **THREE DAYS EARLIER**

 _I felt empty._

 _My heart was heavy, like a great force was pressing it into my ribs. I watched Embry's bear-like figure disappear into the distance, taking Sue and Dad's unconscious body with him. I knew it was pathetic, watching instead of going with or sobering up from my tear-fest, but I still pictured myself knees on the ground, hovering over a chest cavity that looked like a blood-soaked whirlpool. If it were any other day in the office, I'd think none of this was real. All a figment of my imagination sent to torture me for whatever fucked up reason. Maybe it was Dakota, maybe it was a punishment from God. That's what I'd think—the how and the why. I wouldn't picture any of it possible. My cheeks were still wet from tears. I almost felt like I could choke on them, same with my mucus._

 _I felt crazy. After Dad was gone, the reality of his grievous fate was too. There wasn't any blood left on the muck, and if there was it was too minute to notice. A time warp enveloped me. Plugs of air cottoned my ears. Every little detail that could indicate a terrible trauma most heinous went unnoticed, all too real and too fresh to not leave marks. I wasn't an emotional person, at least when it came to tears. When I cried I cried in secret. When I grieved I grieved angrily or I grieved alone. I wasn't some sap. My sensitivity only came in red. Here and now, I wanted to forget what happened._

 _I wanted to swallow my tears and let my face return to tan, leaving no room for anyone to question my stability._

 _"Where are we, Roman?" asked Dakota, just feet behind me. I twitched—I knew it did, because I stiffened, and when I stiffened I made little jerks of movement too—and listened in. For the little time I was wrapped up in my own problems I forgot where I was. The life-threatening injury Dad sustained didn't have a cause, just an effect, and that all laid down to me turning into an absentminded crybaby as he was hauled away. I dug my nails into the denim of my jeans—enough that I could feel them on my skin. "It looks familiar, but this is nothing like Montreal..."_

 _I blinked. In Dakota's memories, it was never specified where exactly he was—but it was obvious he was somewhere in Canada. He was quite a ways from home when he met Roman. That was intriguing. Something, anyway. I wanted to hit him so fucking hard his head fell off. For me, my Dad, my Grandpa, and every other person in our line he tormented. Pitying him... was something an idiot heroine would do if she was looking for trouble further down the line._

 _Montreal, though. Huh._

 _Roman, taking on a paternal tone, said, "You grew up around here, Dakota. You remember—right?"_

 _Dakota didn't answer. I turned around._

 _Roman was holding Dakota to him, one of his hands pushing the younger vampire's head down into his shoulder. Vampires weren't emotive creatures, but Dakota looked sick. He looked tormented, but there wasn't anything around to hurt him with. It was all coming from the inside, apparently._

 _I scowled. I wished that the cotton feeling had stayed so I could have avoided them for the rest of their being here. I didn't have to be the one sending them off. It wasn't my job. Handling vampires was a task better left for Sam, or Dad. Neither were here, though. Before Embry left to take Dad to Sue's house for her to do a medical check-up to make sure his vitals were all up and running right, Jared and Sam left for a scan of the area just to be cautious. Paul stayed here to keep me company but I hadn't noticed him much. Dakota was in a state of disarray and Roman wouldn't leave until his partner was done with the mental breakdown routine and stutter-y shtick. I didn't want to see them off._

 _"I'd—I would like to return back home. I don't feel like myself, Rome." Dakota was visibly distressed, clinging to Roman like he was his lifeline. It made me sick to my stomach seeing it. Someone who not just thirty minutes ago was trying to kill both me and my father, reduced to a blubbering child. How was it even possible? I almost missed the terrifying immortal who would stop at nothing to obtain the approval of his superiors. At least he kept my mind alert. There was no pity for someone who knew his purpose._

 _"We'll be home soon," Roman assured him. "You'll need to adjust to this world. You... you've lost a lot of your memory, Dakota."_

 _Dakota was silent. I glowered at him until he said, "My head feels hollow."_

 _I felt like seething. Or throwing something. Or attacking with just my fists. Anything, really, that would maim. Pitying him, it again felt out of my comprehension. The only sensible reaction to hearing him speak was to make him feel worse than he already did. He deserved it, even if he didn't realize it. He'd understand someday._

 _"Will you just fucking leave already?" I said furiously, scowl sharpening into a lethal snarl when they both looked over. "You can reenact_ Romeo and Juliet _in the car."_

 _Dakota frowned. "A—car?"_

 _I gestured at him, ignoring the footsteps behind me. My eyes located and locked onto their mark: Roman. "You must feel pretty pedophiliac now. Your boyfriend's a_ child _!" Hands pulled me back as I pushed forward, turning a simple action into an all-out war. "Get off, Paul—I'm not going to kill anybody. I couldn't even if I tried."_

 _"I don't trust leeches," Paul said pointedly. He didn't have to say it twice—out of all the wolves, he was probably the most verbal about his hatred of vampires. They all, to some degree, didn't like the opposite species to which they were designed to kill, but Paul? He was a whole other level of "vampire hate." His was near-consuming._

 _"Okay, whatever," I said. I glared at Dakota, watching his face—pale like the fucking moon—turn meek. "When you leave, make sure you don't come back. Your mug looks like a target, and I can't decide which of your eyes is the bullseye."_

 _"I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry," Dakota said, pushing closer into Roman. Roman looked torn, like he couldn't decide whether to counsel Dakota or stand in as a buffer. I wouldn't blame him for taking care of Dakota and treating him as the person he knew before; love made wise men into fools. It could turn sandcastles into coliseums. It had unexplainable power. Watching Roman with Dakota was enough say to that, and he wasn't even human. He was a two-centuries-old vampire. He felt love all the same. I blamed Dakota for everything and wouldn't stoop low enough to turn that hate on an innocent person to it all. I'd done it to Paul when Jared decided to be a dickhead, and I regretted making him feel bad to feel better myself. I had a rage that burned like an inferno, urging me to act now, bear the consequences later. I wanted to maim Dakota, unleash my anger on him, verbally abuse him, all of it. But I knew what's done was done, and I couldn't back out on what Roman wanted. He saved me from turning into one of them, and Dakota would be gone forever once they left, so what was a little more time spent brewing in my anger? It'd go away eventually, like pain usually did._

 _"You should be sorry," I said. Once he and Roman departed for Seattle, they didn't plan on returning. Roman would probably recruit him for his traveling magic show, and I wouldn't blame him for that either. Two vampires, one who could create illusions and another who could manipulate your thoughts, would make for an amazing team tricking idiots into thinking bunnies miraculously conjured from hats._

 _Dakota frowned. "I- I can't seem to remember you... have we met?"_

 _"Oh, we know each other well," I said. I wished he could remember. He wouldn't have felt terrible if he were still in his present-day conscience so maybe that wouldn't be the best idea, yet I liked thinking about him having morals and regrets. I knew he felt something, even if he pushed that something away to feel a new something completely opposite. He was a terrible excuse for an organism, confusing as a Franken-dessert. God, I fucking hated him._

 _I hated him so much that I couldn't stop thinking about how much I hated him. If Paul's hatred for vampires as a species was all-consuming, mine for Dakota made me feel like a witch at a stake—like I was burning and everything around me was on fire, too. Flames crawling all over my skin, licking and lapping at me like pups. Hanging off me like ornaments._

Leave, _I thought. We'd all get what we wanted if he just fucking left._

 _"Roman, just take him. Find your car and bring him somewhere that isn't here," I said. Roman startled. Apology, written in his eyes. He felt sorry for everything. If I were the worst possible kind of person, I would have_ blamed _him for everything. I didn't, though, and probably never would. To some extent I felt terrible for being rude to Dakota in his current state. He was fucking clueless. But the face and body hadn't changed so with them I only knew what his previous conscience had put me through._

 _Leave, leave, leave._

 _Leave._

 _Leave._

 _Fucking go._

 _Don't return._

 _"I can't remember a thing. For that, I apologize. I apologize for anything I've done that's now out mind," Dakota said, speaking in place of Roman. "I hope you can find it in you to forgive me."_

 _Pretty words from perfect, indestructible marble that passed for human. I wasn't naïve enough to think they were anything more than a way to put me off guard—even from a conscience that didn't know two-centuries worth of inflicting misery on others. Vampires were designed to be shells of conscience, though, weren't they? So maybe he wasn't so different, comparing then to now._

 _"Roman," I said, ignoring him._

 _Roman came forward, releasing the arms he had around Dakota. "Alissa, I am sorry for everything. I am. You should know I never thought he'd be who he was, and I was one of the many victims to his misdirection. Yes, I put the delusions of a grander life, but I am as much a casualty as I am to blame. I'll regret it for the rest of my life."_

 _"I'm not a forgiver, Roman," I said. My anger wasn't misplaced or exaggerated. I'd probably feel anger like Roman did regret until the day I died. It wasn't the prettiest feeling. "It's hard for me to overlook mistakes. It's fucking impossible at times. Dakota... I will never forgive him. I don't care if he turns a new leaf. The shit he put me through will stay with me for longer than I'd like it to, maybe even forever. Am I supposed to pity a monster?"_

 _"I'm going to change him," Roman said, and Dakota behind his bulky figure looked puzzled, like he was trying to decode our words and figure out the worst case scenario for his wrongdoings. He didn't understand what he did. "It's far easier now than having him unlearn the Volturi's teachings. I'll show him the life I have among mortals... We'll be magicians together."_

 _He smiled and winked. I liked Roman and didn't want him to resent me, but reciprocating a gesture meant to lighten the mood didn't feel like the right approach. For_ my _sake, anyway._

 _I crossed my arms and continued frowning. "You can try but you can't force anyone to be something they're not."_

 _Roman sighed, dropping the optimistic act. "You say that, but the Volturi is notoriously known for getting into heads. Dakota was treated like a dog by them. Dogs, regardless of how terribly treated they are, would do anything to please their owners, wouldn't they? Perhaps to avoid punishment, perhaps to be in the owner's favor. The Volturi knows how to lurk underneath skin and keep a tight leash."_

 _I understood what he was saying, and part of me did somewhat regret seeing only from my point of view. It wasn't impossible to think Dakota had two sides to him, the merciful dreamer and the monster the Volturi made him to be. His past was not a very happy one. His father was disappointed when he reached maturity and had powers nothing like his ancestors before him. It meant he couldn't be the tribe's emissary. Without being able to communicate with the spirits, it made him useless to the tribe's needs; I understood why he left. Then his Dad died and his Mom hated him. The emissary gift had to be transferred to a new family by the spirits, Dakota's uncle's little girl, Nakita._

 _I hated him with all my might but I wasn't blind to what he went through to be who he was. If I wanted to play psychologist, I could infer that his need to please and his subservient behavior came from never being enough for anyone. Even Roman, who had the best of intentions, didn't realize he was pushing Dakota away until he put him in a new prison and Dakota fled._

 _Never being enough... That had to be the root of his problem. If killing him couldn't happen, at least maybe Roman could right his misguided intentions through a redo. I hoped for his sake the redo would be effective. If it wasn't, even I couldn't stop the guys from doing what they did best._

 _I decided to trust Roman. It took three and a half leaps—but I got there._

 _"Okay, you're right," I said, and Roman wasn't expecting agreeable terms apparently. His mouth popped open like he wanted to object, but the words were glued at the roof of his throat. "You know more about him than I do. I hate him and I think he's a dick, but maybe you can make him into a good Samaritan. You saved me and I owe you this much."_

 _Roman looked visibly relieved. I felt Paul's grip tighten on my shoulders. I realized, with a jolt, that Paul's hand was touching where I'd been bitten. The teeth marks were a texture not built into the skin, so of course—of fucking course—he'd know something was amiss. He wouldn't comment on it until the vampires were gone, though._

 _I swallowed, trying to focus on Roman._

 _"I appreciate it more than you know, Alissa," he said, moving forward like he intended to hug me. Paul's grip tightened almost to the point it was painful. A growl, burrowed in his chest, sounded, rumbling against the back of my neck and my shoulder-blades. Roman stopped. "Ah, sorry... You may not realize it, but you're a good person. I envision bright things in your future."_

 _I scoffed. Good person? Never heard that one before. "Too bad your gift's to fuck with people and not to see futures," I said. "Thanks for the vote of confidence in Fate, though."_

 _Roman shook his head, the ghost of gratitude still echoing in his eyes. "You'll need a vote of confidence yourself," he said smilingly. "Otherwise, how will things get better?"_

 _He should have been a therapist instead of a magician._

 _I wriggled from Paul's arms and went forward to Roman, letting him envelope me in a hug. He didn't feel like what I thought he would. His touch was cold, what was usual for vampires, yet he also had a warmth. He was gentle. And he smelled earthy, confusing my senses to the brink of comatose. I really enjoyed hugging him. When he pulled from the embrace, I put on a small smile. I pretended like Dakota wasn't standing and looking a right fool behind his back._

 _"You're a good person-vampire-thing, too, Roman," I said. "Thanks for coming. My Dad's not here to thank you, so..."_

 _"My pleasure," Roman said. "Give your father my own personal thanks for giving Dakota another chance at a merciful existence."_

 _"I will," I said. He didn't move away so I stared, bracing myself._

 _He dug into his pocket. Out came a silver chain with a wooden token loosely hanging off the end. I went back to staring, except it was at the strange artifact in front of me._

 _Roman's smile was soft. " I think it'd be good to stay in one area until Dakota gets a decent grasp on his new reality, so we'll be in Seattle for the foreseeable future. If you find yourself there in the next year or so, I'd love you to attend one of my shows. This is my personal guest pass I give to any comrades I find myself inviting. My security detail know the appearance and won't give you any trouble, should you decide to come."_

 _I marveled at the necklace, looking to Roman for permission before I reached out, grabbing it by the chain. My other hand held up the token. The chain was sleek and clean, and the wooden token was painted white. It had the image of two hands tilting like Yin and Yang with a tiny mask in the middle. It was gorgeous. I looked back up, unable to think of words to say._

 _"It's the least I can do," he said, continuing to smile. I truly didn't know vampires could sound and be so human. It was unnatural. It went against order. But I liked it coming from Roman. Maybe it was because I knew he wouldn't ever harm me. "Keep being good, Alissa."_

 _I wasn't good, but I internally preened at his compliment so I kept quiet. I watched him turn and head back to Dakota. He did a second turn facing me to give a farewell thumbs-up._

 _I returned it, forcing a smile. The chain was gripped tight in my hand._

 _"We're going to Seattle, Dakota. I haven't been in Montreal in decades," Roman told Dakota quietly, like Dakota hadn't heard everything we said to each other. "Come on, if we go now we can make it there by nightfall."_

 _"Okay," Dakota said softly._

 _I watched them shoot off into the trees, disappearing like bullets._

 _Huh. When the day started, I didn't think this was how it'd go. At least it was all over._

 _Now it was time to watch Paul explode after seeing the bite on my shoulder…_

* * *

 **NOW**

"Alissa?" Paul poked me in the cheek. I startled, barely taking a chance to process my situation before swatting his hand away. "Oh, you're alive."

"Yeah, I'm alive, dipshit," I snapped. Instantly, I was hit with guilt. Being poked was annoying, but it wasn't like he had razor-sharp nails. "Fuck, sorry. I was thinking."

Paul didn't look angry, so I took that for a good sign. "Yeah, I can see that," he said. "You take a trip to loony-town?"

God, he made it hard to be nice sometimes. "You're hilarious," I deadpanned. I looked up into the sky and realized just how late it was getting; Embry would be coming to relieve Paul from patrolling soon. Paul noticed my attention divert and even he straightened. "Anyway, I should probably get home before Mr. Uley realizes how bad an influence I am."

"Not by yourself," Paul said, no room for an argument.

I bit down on my lip to avoid running my jaw again. "Of course, no room for distressed damsels in these parts." Paul hopped off the log, landing effortlessly on his bare feet. He was dressed down into a pair of brown cargo shorts, looking like he was off an Old Navy ad. His arms were held out, bracing for my weight, and I didn't let him wait too long before free falling into him.

Ouch. I hit my chin on his shoulder. It would definitely leave a bruise.

"You and those stupid vampires have one thing in common; hitting you hurts like Hell," I said painfully, letting the curses run wild in my head. Paul's chuckle afterwards vibrated through me. He put me down onto my own two feet and I cracked my jaw, rubbing my chin like a mischievous villain would his goatee. The uncle from _Ella Enchanted_ , perhaps? "Alrighty, I'm ready to rock and roll."

Paul laughed, putting his arm around my shoulder. We were just twenty or so minutes away from my house. We could have used Paul's wolf form to get there faster but he preferred being able to speak when we were together. I shared the sentiment. How else could we swap wit?

If what was true about the shifters not being able to hide their thoughts from each other while in wolf form, Sam would definitely know I helped Paul slack during his patrol duties. We'd be in for one hell of a verbal wallop. Paul usually just reserved our time together for at school or for at night when he sneaked into my bed instead of his own. All three days had been the same. I expected tonight wouldn't be any different.

Sam would eat us alive, but at least it wasn't for naught.

 _Totally worth it._

* * *

I dreamed about buzzing...

There was something near me, under me that wasn't making any real sound, only heard by its insistent vibrations. It was on another something, creating enough pressure against it to jump and make a call for attention. I was surrounded by darkness, unable to see a thing. The buzz wouldn't stop, and after it buzzed and buzzed and buzzed, I couldn't take it anymore so I thought about it going away.

It went away.

Then it started again.

" _Ugh_ ," I grumbled in annoyance, and I was startled to hear my own voice. I shifted, feeling sheets under me, a mattress that was tolerably uncomfortable. I unleashed another grumble at the buzzing. Once unable to do a thing to see, I popped open an eye, startling again upon the threads of moonlight. Huh... the buzzing stopped then started again, becoming a cycle. It wasn't a dream.

I turned over onto my left side, reaching blindly, clumsily over to my nightstand. I nearly toppled over the lamp and water bottle I had sitting there in my tries at finding the source of the buzzing, but luck was on my side and nothing fell.

I grabbed my phone, locking my fingers in place. The sounds stopped, replaced by a feeling.

I pressed the button that had a green telephone on it, feeling the vibrations now stop. A new sound emerged, crackling.

"Hello?" I said drowsily into the receiver.

Breathing was heard on the other line, like panting. "Hey," the person said, and I placed an identity quickly. Paul.

I blinked, looking over my shoulder at the window. It was dark as fuck outside. "Why are you calling me right now? What—what time even is it?"

"Two," he said. Yeah, two—I was about two seconds away from hanging up and going back to sleep. "Hey, before you hang up, I actually called for something important."

Ah, he knew me well. "Alright, what's this so-called important thing?"

"Jacob just shifted," was all he said.

Ugh.

"Okay, yeah, we all knew this day was coming," I said dramatically. "What's so grand about it that you had to call me? Are we throwing him a party? I can assure you, I won't attend."

"We won't be at school tomorrow," he said, and I quickly thought of who he meant by "we." Him, Embry, Jared, and Jacob, obviously. "We're taking him to Emily's after he changes back to talk things through."

I felt like laughing. "Don't bring him inside," I warned, a snicker making the breath wheeze out of my nostrils. "He's going to throw the biggest bitch fit in the history of bitch fits when you tell him about the Cullens, I'm _calling_ it."

Paul laughed himself. "I've gotta go," he said reluctantly. "Sorry you'll be alone. Jared says Kim would be more than happy to sit with you at lunch."

I hummed. Kim was... not a strong enough personality. But hey, it'd beat sitting alone with only my thoughts for company. The library was only so fun before it became nauseatingly repetitive—and _quiet_.

After a beat of incoherent static on his end, Paul said, "Sam might allow you to come over to Emily's after everything, but I doubt it. He knows you and Black hate each other. And he thinks I'll shift if he says something around you I don't like, or you'll say something that sets Black off."

"I know when to keep my mouth shut," I said through a yawn. "Okay, maybe not. Definitely not. I'm not a changed woman yet. Not to mention you still have some kinks in your temper to work out."

"Black will set us both off and we'll destroy Sam's house," he said, and we both laughed. Paul then sighed in frustration. "I really gotta go."

"Yeah, before Sam bites your head off. He's already gonna kill you when he figures out you spent half your patrol goofing off with me," I said, almost hearing his inner panic. Sam could be terrifying when he was angry, though his intimidation mostly just unsettled me. "Have fun with Mr. Black."

"I will," Paul said sarcastically. "I always enjoy his company."

"Night, Paulie LaHottie." Another yawn escaped me, enveloping my entire frame.

"Goodnight, Lis."

The dial tone hit, and I realized through my tired stupor that we had yet to tell each other, "I love you." Why hadn't we?

I couldn't think about it. I was way too exhausted and knew undoubtedly going down that road would only make sleeping that much harder. I wanted to sleep while I could so I wouldn't overdo it and end up missing a class. Art, my favorite. Dad wasn't here to make sure I was awake and neither was Jared.

I closed my eyes, letting my hand that held the tiny little Motorola hang limp.

Sleep overcame me easily.

* * *

"Fucking Mr. Meadows and his stupid goddamn in-class waggled finger," I grumbled grumpily on my way down the corridor, in a way that could imply to any on-lookers that I was unfairly being taken against my will to the Duke. There wasn't a Duke, and if I truly wanted to I could probably escape and hide in the bathroom until lunch, but that was a little extreme. Mr. Meadows was beginning to grate my nerves, sure. He'd been beating down my throat different ways to cope after I was last in his bad graces from knocking over paint cans in art class. Asking me if I was okay, telling me different numbers to call in the worst case scenario that I could no longer go on, giving me papers about group therapy sessions going on at the local clinic. He thought my fatigue and acting-out were cries for attention, shockingly enough.

He came to the door while I was in Art, just minutes away from the bell ringing, and told Mrs. Johnson that I needed to come with him. Everyone stared just like they did when I spilled paint, even Kallie and fucking Erica. I made sure to glare at them and slip a subtle middle finger. Fuckers, staring like they had permission. Mr. Meadows did his signature finger-wag, and I had to get up, books and bag in-tow, dragging my feet behind me in our journey to his office.

He sat me down, and met me face to face, our body language and gazes perfectly matched, in his own chair. I didn't hesitate to glower at him.

"I apologize, Alissa," he said. "I just wanted to check up and see how you were doing. You've had quite the month, haven't you?"

From the head gash to the "bear scratch" to the game of "What's Real" starring Monsieur Leech, yeah, the month hadn't been too kind. The only highlight was Paul, really. I couldn't, and didn't desire to, tell Mr. Meadows that all it took was Paul's company to make me feel higher than a rocket out of awkwardness so I just frowned at him. I decided I'd play the victim act, to see how far that'd get me.

"Oh, yes," I said, frowning sadly. "Just when I think things are getting better, _my Dad_! My Dad's bedridden with a case of rabies. Came from a dog in our neighborhood. Bit him right on the leg... tragic."

Mr. Meadows's face grew increasingly alarmed until it reached outright shock. "That's awful, Alissa. I'm so sorry."

"My boyfriend lost his cat. I loved Gizmo, so much."

"Again, my sincerest apologies."

"And I lost my favorite ring. I got it from my Mom before she... died." My voice cracked at the end. She was a touchy subject, so I couldn't decipher if the voice crack was real or not. I hoped it was the latter.

Mr. Meadows tried hiding his bewilderment but he wasn't a very good actor. Then again, neither was I, yet he was eating up everything I said like his pity for me made him blind. I wanted to preen.

I watched him suddenly stoop down, opening a drawer on the other side. "I have a few contacts in the area that may be right for you. They handle children in their coming-of-age stages and whatever traumas they may have underwent. I don't think I'm the right fit in seeing you get better."

I rolled my eyes where he couldn't see. It was fun for a short period but pretending around someone who didn't know any better about my shenanigans got painful after a while.

"I'm just kidding," I said, watching Mr. Meadows whip his head up. "There is no Gizmo, my Dad doesn't have rabies, I don't wear jewelry... all jokes. Sorry."

Mr. Meadows stared at me, face carefully blank. "Are you... okay?" he asked tentatively.

I stared back. "Yes," I said.

"I see," he said, putting whatever papers he'd pulled out back into their slots. "I apologize for bringing you in."

"It's okay," I said when it really wasn't. I didn't like being disrupted and having myself exempted from art class and sent with him to his office was just foreboding that today wouldn't be my day.

The bell had already rung so it was impossible to return. I'd need to go to my second period, Geometry, and I hated that class. I hated that class more than anything, even Shepherd's pie and Dakota.

We said our goodbyes. Mine was awfully brusque and his was a tad timid, and usually our office personalities were reversed.

I left his office hastily after his dismissal, hating that I'd be walking into second period late, hating the thought of being stared at, hating that Kallie was still pissed at me, and most of all hating that going back to normal seemed fucking impossible.

 _Now to deal with the Mrs._ , I thought. If Mr. Meadows was a hindrance, his math-teaching wife was like the apocalypse coming to shower over a birthday party.

School was absolute ass.

* * *

 _Thank the Lord._

Thankfully, lunch arrived fast and I speed-walked down to the cafeteria from English. English was easier to endure than Geometry because it usually had Jacob and it lacked Jacob today. Jacob was always annoying the shit out of me during chalkboard lectures and in-class readings. I got pretty good at ignoring him, but the result of his picking was paranoia. I looked around frequently to make sure he wasn't looking or had a finger raised to prod me for the umpteenth time. Jacob was like a little kid picking on his kindergarten crush except this wasn't a crush and we just had a rivalry that's been there since we were little more than six-years-old.

Truth be told, it probably came from my Dad and his Dad's own rivalry. He took it upon himself to continue the childish trend. Maybe I encouraged it but it wasn't like I saw Dad's disdain for the older man and thought, _I should go fuck up child Black's day. My father would be proud_. Nah, I had my own motivations and that was vengeance and clap-back. The fighting and the quarreling somehow turned into a lifelong vendetta that didn't include Billy Black because that man was awesome. Jacob's anger cemented itself when I started treating Bella horribly, thinking in my child mind that his crush on her was making him throw mud-pies and call me pathetic names. Maybe if I was mean to her they'd both start avoiding and ignoring me and Dad would finally let me stay home instead of insisting I socialize. Jared was always away playing with older kids for whatever reasons. Sometimes I'd follow him, thus the nicknames Sissy Lissy and Crybaby Cameron.

Jacob joining the pack was something I'd stay unsure about. It wouldn't be fun going around the wolves anymore, since Jacob would be there. He brought the Fun-O-Meter down to zero anywhere he went.

I walked into the cafeteria, feeling wafts of human odor and what smelt like chicken pot pie hit me.

"Alissa!" I heard, looking over to see Kim. Ah, Kim... just when I thought I could slip away to the library with my tray in tow, someone memorable had to notice my presence. Fuck.

I plastered on a smile and walked over to her, thinking it was oddly ironic that she was in the back of the line. It put me in a situation where I couldn't exactly just give a greeting and ignore her afterwards. She was smiling widely and wearing a pair of blue jeans and a Hollister hoodie. Super fashionable. I didn't look like I belonged in a modeling campaign either, my attire consisting of a white turtleneck with a black cardigan over-top, a pair of dark navy skinny jeans as pants and my favorite boots on my feet. I looked a little less casual than Kim, but fashion was never my strong suit. I usually put on whatever constituted presentable and met the school dress code. Coming up to Kim now, I felt... uncomfortable. Her two friends, Kristy and Miranda, were standing in front of her, their necks craning back to see where our conversation went.

"Hi," I said. I wasn't shy, at all. I didn't go mute around other people unless I was really angry and couldn't risk escalating things. Around these girls, I just didn't feel much like talking so I resolved to curt answers, even if curt answers would make it obvious just how I felt. Whatever. If they thought this was bad, they'd lose their shit after seeing my true colors.

"How are you? After... everything?" Kim asked, looking unsure.

Was she really asking this in front of two girls who knew next to nothing about her boyfriend's dog nature? That was a bold move.

I didn't look at Kim. I looked over at Kristy and Miranda, glaring hard enough that they flinched and turned away. They'd still eavesdrop like everyone and their mother did, but it made me feel better not having their eyes in this direction.

I returned my eyes, Kim's innocent face staring back. The line moved up. I took a few steps forward, prompting Kim to shuffle backward, in the direction of her two annoying friends.

"I don't know why you're talking about this now of all times, but it's whatever," I said, standing on my tiptoes to see over the line. They weren't having chicken pot pie like I originally thought, instead it was a chicken concoction of some sort... maybe chicken with gravy? Nah, it didn't look milky. It looked more like something with broccoli. "I'm fine."

"Kristy said you got pulled from Art," Kim whispered conspiratorially.

Fuck, it slipped my mind that Kristy was in Art. She was paired with Jeremiah for our end-of-the-semester project. It sometimes felt like they were gossiping about me, but I labeled that down to paranoia. Gotta love that shit.

I shrugged. "Mr. Meadows thinks I'm a basket case."

"That's awful," Kim said through a gasp.

"'Neurotic to the bone, no doubt about it,'" I quoted, shrugging again. "I really don't care. I've been called worse."

Kristy popped her head around. "Oh, we've heard all the rumors... I'm so sorry you have to hear those."

My lip curled up in distaste.

We moved through the line, grabbing plastic trays from the corner. Unlike the rest of the girls, I didn't feel like eating chicken or broccoli so I grabbed a roll and a slice of Pepperoni pizza they had as the second main dish option. The chocolate-chip cookies arrived at the end of the line, as did the milks, and I paid for my meal.

The girls ushered me unwillingly to a table at the far back. I was segregated from the rest, not that I cared. I pulled a bottle of water out of my bag, hating milk.

Kristy, unable to let her thoughts stay thoughts, said, "Are any of the rumors true?"

I cut my gaze up from my tray, just as I was going to take a bite from my pizza slice. "Why are you asking me that?" I asked.

Kristy shrunk back. "I was just curious..."

I rolled my eyes. That confirmed she spent half of Art discussing my failed romantic endeavors with Jeremiah. "So you're one of the many idiots who thinks I got it on with Tommy Long." Most of the school thought I was some cheap whore. They probably thought Paul and I weren't actually dating and we spent our time together fooling around instead of talking. There was nothing wrong with fooling around regardless, so what was supposed to offend me? That they thought I couldn't score romantic interest, just sexual? Or maybe it was that everyone assumed no one saw my worth as a person. Girls could do whatever they wanted, just like boys. I didn't like that they drew conclusions about my relationship with Paul.

"Let's get one thing straight, Kristine," I continued, sounding more cutthroat than I anticipated myself capable of. Miranda, ever silent around newcomers, and Kim, passive where it counted, were silently watching our exchange like sheep. They probably thought the rumors were true, too. They all hung around each other and gossiped. For some reason that's all that girls did those days. Gossip was fun and all, but it got tiresome after a while, especially when it became obvious just what it did to other people. I was a little like a duck and let things roll off my back most of the time. Not everyone was resilient. "People can do whatever the fuck they want. If the rumors were true, what gives you the right to judge me?"

"She didn't mean anything bad by it," Kim jumped in before Kristy could put herself in an even worse predicament. "It's just that a lot of people say the same things."

"Yeah, rumors spread like wildfire," I said, appetite gone. I dropped the pizza slice back onto my tray. "That's how rumors are. They spread. I mean, Jesus, is this all you guys do? Draw assumptions from what's in the air and act like Nancy Drew, thinking you know everything? You don't know a _thing_ about me."

I got up, aggressively pulling an arm of my backpack onto my shoulder. _You all can take my tray to the dish rack, thank you,_ I angrily thought. I snatched my water bottle from the table and put it in its rightful place, in my backpack's side pocket.

Kim stood up with me, looking earnestly apologetic. "Alissa, I'm sorry, we don't mean anything by it. Kristy likes Jeremiah, she just wants to make sure he's not that kind of guy. You guys had a thing, so-"

"How dense are you?" If this was the kind of girl Jared thought hung the moon, then God have mercy on us all for whoever Jacob inevitably imprinted on. "I didn't have anything with Jeremiah, Tommy, Will, Easton, Terrance, Richard, or Carson! Not a single one of them. You'd know that if you actually talked to me instead of keeping your nose up Jared's ass."

"Jared's my boyfriend," Kim said, a crushed expression on her face, "and you never tried talking to me."

I glared at her. "I heard from Miranda you used to write his name in notebooks with our last name on your own, hearts with Cupid arrows and all. Is that a rumor? You followed him around and gushed about how cute he was. Is that something your dear best friend made up?"

Kim looked over at Miranda in hurt before looking back at me with that same pain in her eyes. "Well, I _liked_ him, I liked him a lot. I had a crush," she said defensively. "You've had a crush! On Paul."

"Yeah, but my default personality isn't 'Paul this, Paul that,'" I said, rolling my eyes again. "Jared's all you live and breathe. I don't need a fucking magnifying glass to look close and see that."

Kim tried saying something else, probably to tell me I was wrong, but I ignored her, turning around and walking away to the cafeteria entrance. I walked and walked until I was far enough away that I could angrily suck up tears, falling against the nearest locker set. I dropped my backpack to the ground, my body following suit. I curled my knees up into my chest and tucked my head on them. There wasn't anyone else in the corridor so I felt safe to just sit.

God, I hated girls. Most girls. The ones that gossiped and spread rumors and ostracized people that did nothing to them and acted like boys didn't like them when it was the perfect-looking ones that didn't return affections. Kim was just another one of them, all soft and innocent until she was with her trusted confidantes. Maybe I was just as bad, degrading her in my head but I was angry. I was pissed off at her. I already knew from her relationship with Jared and the brief times we spent around each other that she wasn't my type of friend. Her idea of fun was telling her friends about how Cassidy definitely did have a thing going on with Hal behind Hal's girlfriend's back because Kim saw the impossible, the two of them making out by the football stand. She definitely thought the school was right about me before and even during and after definitely. When we sat with each other at lunch, Jared and Paul too, she hid how she assumed I was Jared's "whore" of a sister.

Her, Miranda, and Kristy could all go to Hell.

"Um," someone above me said. I looked up, shielding my eyes from the fluorescent overhead lights. "You're in front of my..." We realized at the same time who each other was. "...locker."

I scowled. "Jeremiah, what a lovely surprise," I said.

Jeremiah stepped back, allowing me to get up at my own time. When I was off the ground, holding the handle of my heavy-ass backpack like I wasn't straining with the weight, he curved around me, a hand going to his red-and-black lock. I stayed silent, watching him. His lock came unlatched and he pulled it out, hanging it off his belt loop for the time being.

"Is your guard dog anywhere?" he asked after setting his Biology textbook inside.

Why was everyone at this godforsaken school an asshole?

I could feel myself seething, cartoon steam erupting from my ears. My narrowed gaze caught his feet. "Your feet are awfully small," I said, gritting my teeth. "You know what that means, don't you?"

His head dipped down. "That I can buy from the kids' section?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, it means you give ladies a sad time in the bedroom," I told him, watching him whip around to defend himself. His face was stuck in anger, like a broken clock. I smiled. "Take your small penis and shove it in a donut, douche-canoe. Gossip about me again and everyone will know just how much of a micropenis you have."

I walked away, a skip in my step. Suddenly I felt much better.

* * *

My phone buzzed in Biology and I pulled it out, glancing up at the front of the room to make sure it wasn't seen by Mr. Green.

I pressed it deep into my lap and uncovered the screen, glancing up at Mr. Green's back a second time. Satisfied to see him occupied, I looked back down at my phone.

It was a text from Paul. I was surprised to see him texting me when he was meant to be helping Jacob adjust to his new life as half-dog. I opened the text anyway, not really expecting anything big.

 _We spotted another leech last night,_ it read boldly. _It's still around._ _Go to Sam and Emily's after school._

I froze. _Another leech? Go to Sam and Emily's?_

I was in a scratch-your-scalp stage of bemusement.

There were only three reasons for another vampire to be in the area.

First option: the vampire, like Dakota, was here on the Volturi's orders. Or, the second option: it was a nomad, a _wanderer_ , on the hunt. And the third option? Well, it felt more likely the more I pondered it. If the third option was the right answer, then that meant—

The vampire was here looking for the Cullens.

* * *

 _A/N: Sooo, just a head's up—New Moon is going to end soon! Perhaps about six more chapters (depending on chapter length) for the book/movie content? I'll most likely dedicate a few bonus chapters to what happens with the gang after the events of New Moon. I can tell you this, big events are going to happen and I think none of them will be expected. I hope this entire book has had curve-balls. Too many fanfics stick to 100% canon and sometimes that's fun to read, other times it's boring._

 _I have a lot of ideas for where to take things now that Dakota's arc has ended. I'm really invested in this story and where I can take it, a weird contrast to other stories I've tried. I don't have as much love for my other stories as I do for this one. I'm dying to see it through._

 _I'll make a promise—if I see an increase in feedback, I'll update within three weeks of every chapter. Maybe even faster than that. When I'm motivated, I'm crazy fast at dishing out content. I'm getting a good grasp on the over-all plot. I'm eager asf to edit it and make it perfect, but it gets me down at heart not seeing attention for it. So pls, if you want to see this story updated quicker than ever, give me love! :D Other than that, thank you so much to everyone favoriting and following and reviewing! I love you all *muah*_

 _I wasn't happy or even satisfied with this chapter but oh well, I didn't want to make everyone wait any longer. It was going to be much longer but I'll save the juicy bits for next chapter, which will be coming out within the next few days. I already have the plot outlined so all I gotta do it write it hehe. See you guys very, very soon ;)_


	20. Chapter XX

| The Human Condition |

Chapter XX: You Suck, I Swallow

"I believe that everything happens for a reason. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they're right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together."  
― Marilyn Monroe

* * *

 **I WASN'T ONE TO OUTRIGHT** skip, but after Biology came to a close and I got a glimpse of Kim's posse's backside in the hallway, I knew I needed to leave—get out of that wretched hellhole so I could think and breathe. I was already completely pissed off. I had Jeremiah and, once again, Kim's posse to thank for that. Paul's message was like a storm cloud over my head, patiently stewing as I went about, knowing the moment I got alone it'd be all I could think of. I needed to get away so I could come up with a plan. Somewhere I wouldn't have to worry about the newly-arrived vampire, whoever the hell it was, coming to crash the party.

As everyone moved from fifth to sixth period, I snuck around a varying range of bodies, using my height to my advantage in ducking and dodging. I was hit in the head by some random asshole I knew from English, but I ignored the itching under my skin, knowing if I hit someone it'd put a damper on my plans—and truly make life an absolute agony once Dad decided he actually had kids to look after. I shook my head, refocusing on the task at hand. Getting away, avoiding attention. Hitting someone would garner attention. I thought about the consequences of pulling a Paul Lahote; suspension wasn't fun and only meant sulking under my roof with nothing, absolutely nothing, to preoccupy myself with. Yeah, not fun. Not worth it.

I got to the front doors, slipping through. The school wasn't very safety-first and there weren't metal detectors, cameras, or even a worker detail sitting in the office watching vigilantly for dillydallying misfits. It made for easy, fast escape. I first checked my back for any potential followers, making sure I _double_ -checked before booking it. I ran like a woken bat from a cave to my Dad's car, sitting unoccupied at the end of the parking lot. It was beside some girl's hand-me-down Chevrolet. Dad's car was a little Cavalier, gray as could be, in need of a paint job. It got the job done anyway, so maybe it was wrong to care about its many scratches and many bents from my many, _many_ crashes and mishaps.

My eyes rolled up, annoyed as all Hell. I dug my keys out of my bag's side pocket, using the car key to unlock the driver's side door before climbing in. My bag was thrown into the passenger seat, right where the coffee stain was, to be forgotten until I was home and had to remember all the at- _home_ assignments. I'd be missing my last period, American History, but Mrs. Myers was good at reteaching old lessons during new ones. It came in handy now; usually it made for a good snore-fest. Whatever. I digressed.

I turned the car on, feeling the ignition sputter to life. I carefully maneuvered out of my parking spot. On normal school days I waited for everyone to leave before I even _thought_ about leaving myself, and that helped my anxiety when it came to pulling out and driving my way to the road and on the path home. I could be panicky behind the wheel when I least wanted to be.

 _The vampire Paul mentioned,_ I thought, realizing he didn't give any information besides that: the vampire part. What did they look like? What was the vampire's gender? I couldn't really use deductive reasoning for appearance, the physical bits being a part of identity I needed to see in order to know. It made me wonder what I needed to look out for while alone or in the woods. If I wasn't careful I could easily wind up dead. Other than that, the vampire was probably not vegetarian—meaning it had red eyes. Red eyes meant _human_ -drinking. Human-drinking was bad. For me, at least.

I wanted to slam my head on my steering wheel. Thank God no one else was on the road. My emotions seeped into how I drove and what I thought during driving, translating to pretty terrible road rage.

 _I wonder if Miss Bella Swan, the miscreant driver, knows anything about this._

Wait a damn second.

I accidentally pressed my foot into the brake, causing a very abrupt stop. My body went forward, hitting the roof of the windshield and the steering wheel. It was painful for a brief bit. I released both hands off the steering wheel and blindly reached over, pulling the gearstick up to park. Good it was all the way at the end, otherwise I'd probably accidentally send myself backwards and crash into a tree before I could look straight again.

After the car settled and I looked around to make sure there weren't any oncoming vehicles, I straightened up. This was totally my own fault, my own doing. Who the fuck didn't wear a seatbelt while driving alone? I shook my head, grumbling internal insults towards myself, and clumsily buckled. I tightened the strap so it wouldn't shapeshift into uncomfortable positions, maybe a little irritated by how constricted it was but anything beat dying. Satisfied, I pulled the gearstick back into drive.

I did a hasty U-turn on the road, nearly toppling off the side, and sped down in the opposite direction. No longer towards the nearest gas station I intended to buy Laffy Taffy from—now towards Fork.

If the vampire was in the area looking for the Cullens, it wouldn't surprise me for Bella to be familiar with them. She probably knew them by name. She was basically "vampire girl" by now, even if the Cullens were gone; before they left, she was in cahoots with them all, dating _Edward_ Cullen and all. I didn't think badly of them like Paul and the rest did, being that it was mostly human-drinking vampires I didn't like. So it didn't annoy me as much as it intrigued me thinking there could be a vampire here looking for the Cullens. It made me wonder just how much Bella herself knew. I had half a mind to believe she knew about shifters. But maybe it was best I pretended, just for the time-being, that she knew less than I did. Just for Sam's sake. _My own, too._

I got to Forks High School in record time. From being picked up that day to watch them ride bikes near the beach, only to ask that I go home because I was angry, I knew Bella's vehicle. It was a rusted-red Chevy pick-up. I was bad at knowing types of cars, but hers was easy-enough. I saw it near the back in the parking lot. There was even a vacant parking spot beside it. I slid in, bringing my car to a stop just before it could go forward and spill into the portion of block meant for cars to drive through in pursuit of free concrete.

I turned off the ignition. It was around 20 degrees outside, so I didn't have to worry about overheating. I did worry about being too cold. I stretched over and curled around my seat, reaching a hand into the backseat to grab my favorite hoodie. It was black with a skull hand on it. I slipped it on, snuggling into it.

I waited.

Forks High School got off around the same time we did at La Push, so it didn't take long before students trickled out, maybe thirty minutes at the most after the drive here. I sat up in my seat, leaning forward until my nose was pressed into the windshield. Bella wasn't plain or anything, but her features weren't a stand out in a pool of brunette white girls so finding her turned out to be harder than I thought it would be. I looked everywhere, thinking she'd appear. She didn't. Obviously. I got frustrated looking and seeing no one that even looked the slightest bit like her. I only came here to have a discussion, not to hang out or have a sleepover, and Paul expected me at Emily's. He'd probably think I was off doing shit I shouldn't if I showed up hours later.

Suddenly I saw a brunette girl wearing a olive hoodie walking towards the back. I looked closer, noticing it _was_ Bella. She had the same self-preserving disposition, nervous mannerisms, and shield of long brown hair.

I hopped out of my car, watching her face—eyes focused on the vehicle to my left—go wide as I appeared beside it. She probably thought she was seeing things. I hadn't seen her since that day in February and it was now March, on the fast track to April. She knew I was upset with her after that fiasco of a trip out; maybe that'd make it easier for her to believe whatever story I came up with to avoid revealing that vampires weren't the only creatures in the dark. If she didn't already know. Yeah, that's an important tidbit.

"Bella!" I greeted, faking a smile. Bella nervously eyeballed me. Did she think I was going to jump her? Sure, the thought was appealing, but I had more dignity than that. I internally let my sub-face's eyes roll around in their sockets. "Hey. How ya doing?"

Bella surveyed the parking lot before shuffling closer. Her arms locked around her waist, hugging them close—and I caught the faintest glimpse of wary on her face. "I'm good," she said. "You wouldn't happen to know if Jacob's alright, would you?"

 _Ha—so she does know nothing. Can't say I'm surprised._

Black just had his first shift that morning, early as much as early could be, so I was a bit perplexed she inquired about him "feeling okay." I couldn't exactly say a word about his new canine identity either. I tried to look confused so she wouldn't think I knew more than I felt comfortable revealing.

"We don't talk so nah, I dunno," I said, shrugging.

Bella looked down. "Oh… we went to see a movie with my friend Mike last night. He said he wasn't feeling well. I think he might have the flu from the fever."

Before their first shift, new shifters would feel awful for a few days. Feverish, itchy, irritated, like there was something crawling under their skin. They'd be angrier than usual, all abnormal and out of loop. Kind of like a period.

 _Are you stupid? Shut up._

I frowned. "You should wait a few days then call Billy. Leave Bla— _Jacob_ to rest and fight whatever it is."

"You're right," she said, visibly less tense. Vehicles around us awoke, maneuvering between sister cars to make their way out onto the road. I was conscious of where I was and what I looked like. I felt awkward being the only Native girl in a parking lot of Forks locals. All of them were the same, boring, culturally ignorant, and nosy. Bella chewed on her bottom lip, a question written on her forehead like she realized my being here was totally out of the fucking blue—and unanswerable without me filling in the blanks. Her curiosity turned to deep regret, the kind that girls only _sort of_ felt. "I'm still so sorry about your head… if there's anything I can do to help, I—"

 _That's very off topic of you, Bella._

"All in the past, don't worry about it," I said dismissively. "Anyway, I came here for something important." I looked around, making sure there weren't any eavesdroppers. Potential assholes just waiting for the chance at gossip. Even if there was anyone to worry about they'd probably think this was some roleplay game and not take me seriously. They could tell the whole fucking school and no one would bat an eye. It helped alleviate my paranoia though, in looking.

Bella's eyebrows scrunched together. "I don't think I'm the best person for that."

"You love humbling yourself, don't you?" I rolled my eyes. " _Anyway_. I know a lot, Bella. Been through a lot. Seen a lot. Yada, yada. I may be a high school sophomore but I'm _experienced_ , you know?"

Bella wasn't getting the hints at all, I could tell that by how puzzled she got the more I yammered. She probably assumed she was the only mortal in the area to know a thing or two about vampires. Outright telling her seemed like my only option. This could end very badly, given I was told not to go off blabbing wolfpack secrets to anyone outside the pack, but this was technically me seeking a solution, information that'd be _beneficial_ in the long run. Besides, I never intended on telling Miss Bella Swan about werewolves. It was the vampire potentially looking for the Cullens I had my eye on. I just had to figure out the means to my end…

Bella blinked. "What are you talking about?" she asked.

I spread my arms like wings, eclipsing the rainclouds behind me. "I know everything. You think you're the only one who sees all the dark, dreary secrets around here? Guess again, future Mrs. Cullen."

Her eyes alerted, flashed, but she hid it quickly. "Um, I don't know what you mean, Alissa."

"Don't try to hide it, Bella." I smirked. It didn't comfort her in the slightest. _Good, I say; good!_ "You do know. There's someone I think your Cullens know that's in the area."

"They're gone," Bella said, glancing around uneasily. "They've been gone since September."

"So?" Even if the Cullens were gone, not everyone got the memo—especially vampires coming from their own territories for an impromptu, self-scheduled visit. I felt annoyed trying to get information from Bella; it was like talking to a corpse, and some corpses talked _back_. Maybe she hated this conversation and wanted to disappear from it, aiming to get the interrogation over as quickly as possible. Most probably she was still sore over her twinkle-headed boyfriend and his family leaving to God-knows-the-fuck-where without her. "There's one of them out there, closer than you or I could even imagine. You've gotta tell me what you can."

"How do—how do you know? About them?" Bella's eyes, wide with horror, got larger the more my silence ensued.

Fuck, I never actually acquired a plan for what I'd claim once I revealed my cards. I couldn't get away with saying something ridiculous like, _Oh, it's kinda obvious the supernatural exists. You'd have to be an idiot not to see it._ There had to be a logical reason I knew, otherwise Bella would realize something was off about my own understanding of her previous lover's family—and she'd learn about the wolves from my defeated mouth's shitshow of an explanation. Using them as a buffer for my newfound reality would be an even dumber move on my part. God, what could I even do?

Quickly, before Bella could grow suspicious, I said, "The Cullens saved me a few years ago." That sounded plausible enough. Her bewildered expression prompted me to elaborate, though every word was fucking improv: "I got lost in the woods past the reservation, and some nomad—you know, one of those vampires that goes from territory to territory hunting—caught me. He was going to kill me if it wasn't for Carlisle."

Truly I didn't know if the Cullens were the slightest bit heroic. They had to be somewhat sympathizing of humans or they never would have thought to come here and integrate themselves into everyday human society. Maybe "human sympathy" was a bit of a stretch, even for vegetarian vampires. Roman had his own moral compass, but I couldn't apply his unwonted ways to a family I barely knew.

Fuck, I was dragging myself into a _Danger! Danger!_ zone. One slip-up on my part could ruin everything.

I plastered a calm look on my face, replacing the flitting nerves that wormed their way all over it.

Bella looked a bit perplexed, but who was she to deny her loving vampire family saved a girl in need? "You never mentioned it before. Last time we hung out, you could have—"

"Yeah, because I didn't feel a need to," I said, talking out of my ass. I waved off any other questions she had lapping at the mouth. I needed to get what I came for. If I didn't make haste, the pack would _kill_ me. My arriving late would sure as shit tip them off. I didn't feel like dying today, nor any day. No bueno. "Now, if we've got that handled, is there anybody you know who'd be here to see the Cullens?"

"None that I can think of—" Bella started. That's about when her expression changed completely. I watched, a bit horrified myself, as spasms hit, transforming her nervous face into the face a horror movie protagonist would make right before the killer struck. The only typical feature missing was her mouth open in a scream; even then I checked behind me to make sure there wasn't some crazy psycho sneaking up. "There's… something. I don't know."

I returned to staring at her, hands buried deep in my hoodie pockets. "What?" I pressed. "This is important, Bella. What if they're dangerous?"

 _Or innocent._ There was the slim chance the vampire on La Push soil was amber-eyed and benign like a bunny rabbit.

"There's Victoria," Bella admitted.

The name didn't sound familiar at all. I didn't expect it to anyway; what vampires would I know other than the Cullens, Roman, and Dakota? "Who's that?" I parroted from my dimwitted brain's projections into the unknown.

"We killed her mate last year." Bella rubbed her arm, looking over her shoulder paranoidly. "His name was James and he tried to kill me. He lured me out somewhere alone and if it wasn't for Carlisle and Edward I would have turned." She showed me where a healing bite wound was on the arm she was rubbing.

I found this information overwhelming, but it was exactly what I wanted so maybe it was hypocritical to suddenly wish I knew none of this. I nodded, pushing my personal emotions to the side. "Okay, so she wants revenge?"

"What did they look like?" Bella asked. It occurred to me that I had nothing to go on besides the pack's sense of smell—and whatever sparing details they noticed about the intruder. None that were reported back to me. Stupid Paul and his rushed text messages.

"I didn't get a good look. Too dark, too fast," I lied, masking my unease about how well she could read people with an indifferent shrug. "But I know what little details I did get match a bloodsucker's profile perfectly."

Bella nodded, looking about as uneasy as I felt. "She'll be coming after me… maybe you should stay out of Forks. If she catches you around me she'll come after you too."

"Are you offering yourself up? Free blood bank and all that?" I fought a snicker, imagining her in the woods, blinking sign above her. Vampires would come from all over for just a taste. Well, depending on _how_ she tasted. She had to be one hell of a mortal to gain some posh geezer's favor. "Geez."

"No! I just mean—they're _dangerous_ ," Bella stressed.

"Yes," I said, my eyes owlish. Blink. Blink. "Dangerous like Dahmer? Dangerous like Manson? Dangerous like Ed Gein?"

"Um, all of the above," Bella said. She obviously didn't have a clue what an "Alissa-inspired rhetorical question" was. Maybe the set threw her off. Should have stuck with the singular. "I know we don't know each other that well, but if it's Victoria out there, she'll do anything to get to me. She'll kill anyone."

"Anyone, you say," I said, Jacob's head popping up behind my eyelids. I closed my eyes for a brief bit, reveling in a one-on-one between him and Bella's pursuer. Ah… marvelous. Unfortunately his newly-acquired wolf prowess would put a damper on the outcome. All that "designed to kill vampires" hullabaloo. The "Oh, they're fast? We're faster!" baloney. Jacob may have inevitably lost as a human, but now he was half-wolf; he stood a chance, more than a chance. I popped open an eye, my pleased smile disintegrating. "Fucking physics."

It wasn't physics. It was Quileute ancestry. I couldn't curse that in front of Bella without further trifle, though.

Bella watched me nervously. Oh, poor girl. She thought I was insane.

Just like I popped open an eye, I popped on a too-wide, blatantly insincere smile too. "Well, that concludes our talk. Great talk, by the way; very riveting. You know you're getting hunted by a Dracula one-off and I know I should really lay off the drugs, so thanks. See ya."

Bella tried saying something. Really, she did. Her body raised up through the unnerved breath she was about to speak through—but it blew out as fast as she took it. I backed up from her to my car, bumping into it with a sharp squeak. Fucking exits—they were so easy to completely ruin. I wanted to smack myself white, entirely irritated about Bella and life and vampires and everything, going into autopilot mode with a swift click in my brain. I opened the driver's side door violently and turned the key. Bella was still stuck in the same spot when my car, my _Dad's_ car sputtered to life. She raised her hand in a wave, the confusion still showing on her face.

I nearly hit a tree on my high-speed, Fast and the Furious inspired drive to Emily's. It left me rattled and wanting to go home instead anything was better than going home to an empty house.

Anything.

* * *

Not knowing the terrain of Emily's house I was a bit awkward leaving my Dad's car and getting a good eye of how it looked on the outside. The house itself was a little plain but what house wasn't on the reserve? I never expected much on social calls. What I got usually met my expectations, if not exceeding them—especially given how little good there was to go on. My own house was pretty nice interior-wise, but the exterior was like anybody else's. I shook my head, clearing it of any want and desire to check around back. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_

I twirled my key ring, trying to feel casual. The closer I got to the front door the louder the laughter got. The boys were already here. My heart jolted, accelerating. I was expecting to be late but not that late. What time was it, anyway? I fished out my phone, tapping the buttons furiously until the screen lit up. Five minutes until 5. 4:55. Fuck. My nerves were shot the moment I replaced my little Motorola where it belonged in my jeans' backside pocket.

Jesus, this wasn't a shocker as much as it was the one outcome I really hoped I could avoid. I'd have to make the best of it. Lying came second nature in situations best left without a trial, and if I had to lie my way out of consequences by Golly I would, without hesitation. I just had to put all my thoughts that could get me into trouble on the back burner.

I inhaled and exhaled. I'd never been so nervous for—what? To go into someone's house? Ridiculous.

I opened the door before I could chicken out and get back into my car, driving off to a less occupied location to safely do introspection. The laughter went silent. I was immediately in their vantage, standing with a foot inside Sam and Emily's dining area.

My shoulders sagged silently when it was just Embry and Jared at the dining table, Emily standing above them with her hands on the top. Paul, Sam, and Jacob weren't anywhere to be seen.

Embry grinned at my disheveled arrival. "Well, look what the _wolf_ dragged in," he said, laughing at his own dumb joke. "You look crazy."

I scowled, shutting the door behind me. I shoved my shoes off, unwilling to wear muddy boots in Sam and Emily's home. It was much prettier inside, built like a modern family's. " _This_ close, Embry," I told him hatefully, pinching my fingers close enough that there was barely an indent of space left. "I may not be able to kick your ass but I can hurt you in other ways."

He caught my meaningful gaze and sobered up, the grin falling a little. He knew exactly what threat I was implying.

"Hey, Lis," Jared said with a wave from the table. He was shirtless, like Embry, and wearing a part of jean shorts that made me want to vomit. Jean shorts were the bane of men's fashion. They deserved to be fucking _burned._ I avoided looking, trying to hold his carefree, well-meaning gaze. "Paul said you'd be here."

I nodded, looking over at Emily. Emily met my eyes and removed her hands from the wooden tabletop, her footfalls soft as she came over to me. I was fully prepared, but wholly uncomfortable, when she wrapped me up in a hug. She had the presence of a Mom but that didn't make me anymore used to affection, especially from females. I grew up with Jared, and Jared wasn't the most physical person. He was more about showing than telling, like most guys I knew, just primarily with _outward_ physical bursts. And not by hugging and doing being familial. The only person he ever got physically affectionate with was Kim. Paul was built the same way.

Emily was a whole different ball park. She was kind and welcoming and loving and nothing like I was accustomed to. I returned her hug, sinking into it. It came to me painfully that I'd never been hugged by any other girl but Kallie and my mother. And my mother was dead.

"I'm glad to see you here, Alissa. You'll need to start coming over more often. Kim's here on the weekends, you know," she said in a reprimanding tone, smiling through the chide. I grimaced at Kim's name. "You're a part of our family now."

 _Families and I don't do well,_ I thought, glancing over at Jared. He didn't know anything about what went on between Kim and I earlier. He definitely would by dinner. I was more than rude to her, and she didn't look like the type to keep things to herself. I was in for a lecture. A Cameron domestic. A brother-sister spat. We hadn't had one of those in a while.

I shook myself out of my irrelevant thoughts and smiled. "Thanks, I'll try not to start any fights. At least not while inside," I said jestingly, relieved when she laughed. "Mind if I sit?"

Emily's warmth disappeared the same time her arms did, and I felt violently cold in their absence. "Of course," she said. "You don't have to ask, sweetheart."

I nodded, putting it away for future reference, and walked over to sit beside Embry. He immediately knocked his foot into my leg; I returned his prod with a well-aimed kick of my own. Too bad it missed the groin.

Embry and I had gotten closer in the three days since Roman and Dakota took off. It was a weird development that I didn't hate, as much as it pained me to say it. I didn't know what to make of him, labeling him off as some puppy-dog who wouldn't stop asking questions about Kallie but now after actually talking to him, by ourselves and without a Kallie question thrown in, he wasn't so off-putting. He was funny and friendly. He had a good sense of humor that complemented my own. Paul wasn't so keen on us finding common ground to mull over but I didn't care. Embry didn't either. He was probably my favorite pack member after Paul, beating my own brother out for number two.

It really sucked that he imprinted. Most of the guys around here became wimps and unfun losers thanks to their soulmates.

I smirked wolfishly at Embry, getting a bewildering cross-eye as a response.

 _Idiot._ I transported my eyes over to the delectable treats Emily made for us all.

I only had a chance to grab one of the blueberry muffins from the basket on the table before the interrogation started.

A loud crunch came from the chocolate-chip muffin Jared had in his hand. "You didn't come immediately from school," he pointed out, crumbs sprinkling from both sides of his mouth.

I blanched back. Embry had a similar look of repulsion on his face.

"You're fucking disgusting, you know that?" I said, apologetically glancing over at Emily for my "potty mouth". She had her back turned to us however, occupied with some kitchen appliance. My money was on her getting ready to mix a new batch of muffins. "Ugh. I had something to do."

If possible the way Jared looked at me intensified. Closer and closer. "What?" he asked, refusing to focus on the chocolate staining his left pectoral muscle. That was more important than whatever _this_ was.

"None of your business."

Jared glared. "As your older brother it sure as hell's my business."

Embry, ever the peacemaker, said, "Maybe she had to stop by your all's house for something. Let up, man."

"Yeah, Jared," I taunted. "Maybe I had to pick up some Plan B for what I had planned later."

Ah, fuck, I did it now.

"Plan _what?_ " I almost cackled at the way Jared crushed the remaining half of the muffin in his fist. There was a fire burning in his eyes, steam billowing out of his ears. He'd shift, destroying Emily's perfectly polished table, if I didn't extinguish the flames.

My "better" judgment told me to keep the rise, for comedic purposes. I knew better than to listen to _that._

I scoffed. "You're so gullible. What money do I have to spend on that shit?"

Jared released his fist, letting the muffin crumbs fall to the tabletop. "That mouth's going to get you into trouble someday," he warned me.

I contemplated the different troubles I'd already gotten into these days, from Jacob to my many detentions to visits with Mr. Meadows to my disastrous failed dates to Dakota. "Too late," I said, shrugging.

Jared rolled his eyes as Embry laughed, nudging me. "Paul's gonna have detention until he graduates for truancy if he doesn't quit missing school after today."

This was news to me. "Oh shit, really?" This could become a big issue, what with Sam regularly requiring the guys to skip whenever something crucial came up. It was possible that Paul's education was in jeopardy. I'd risk the Big Bad Wolf's choppers to avoid _that_. School just wasn't the same without that grizzly lovable oaf around. "Dunno how that'll work with Sam."

"I think Sam's going to let him off the hook," Jared chimed in. "He'll get into big trouble if he misses more, especially with all the fights he's been in. It could bring him to court."

Court. That was _not_ the future I envisioned for Paul. He was like me: mouthy. He'd get the worst brunt of whatever punishment they deemed his juvenile crimes guilty of for mouthing off to the judge. He just couldn't help himself. Being serious wasn't his forte.

I looked at the table thoughtfully. Huh, how would I cope? "I will literally commit arson if they expel him. We'll be drop-out delinquents together."

"No, you'd be two idiots in juvie, learning how to fit back into society," Embry said, flicking a piece of Jared's dead-and-gone muffin at my forehead. I scowled and blew a livid raspberry.

"Better than being here with you two goo-for-brains knuckleheads," I said, taking a handful of crumbs and smacking Embry right in the face with them.

Embry gasped, quickly brushing all over his face to make himself less of a chocolate-chip. As he clambered about I took a deep bite out of my own muffin. Holy _shit._ Absolutely scrummy, as the Brits would say.

"Should I call Mr. Meadows?" Jared asked, raising his eyebrows at me. I saw Emily look over inquisitively out of the corner of my eye.

I glared, chewing before swallowing. "For what? Being myself?"

"For being a sociopath," he said bluntly.

Rude. More than rude. Rude and _false_.

"Nice accusation you got there," I told him, pointing my finger at him with the hand clutching a muffin chunk. I felt blueberry bleeding into my palm. "I've got a good place you can put it and it's not a shrink."

Prancing around the hateful, swear-word-infested dialogue I truly felt like putting out into the open was exhausting. It sucked and it made me feel like a stranger. I didn't want Emily thinking I was a heathen but that was exactly what I was so maybe, just maybe, I could be myself inconsequentially. Or lose everyone's patience while trying.

Jared smirked, seeing the inner conflict I was having. "C'mon, Alissa, we all know you wanna swear. Go on and do it. No Mrs. Johnson around to give you detentions."

I made a weird grumble sound in the back of my throat, throwing a hapless piece of muffin at his head. It hit the target right on the bullseye and I listened to him call me a number of things, many of them ranging from "piece of work" to "the real mongrel around here." I deserved it, having hit him right in the eye; there had to have been a little residue left there. I smiled victoriously and gave Embry a high-five under the table.

The tension between Jared and I evaporated after he got to spew a half-eaten piece of muffin at my mouth, I lashed out with every fiber in me, and Emily had to get in between us before we started throwing fists. Or I did something stupidly regrettable and despicable, even for me.

We sat around and talked, mostly me and Embry and Emily and Jared through side-conversations. Embry asked me his Kallie-related question of the day, I answered glumly, the topic switched to who our fighters would be in a pop culture Battle Royale. I brought Hulk Hogan and Tony Hawk to the table, to his bemusement; he declared Darth Vader and Jason Voorhees were his dream team, to mine.

"Darth Vader would betray you," I said, muffled by a mouthful of muffin. My third, actually. "I'm not complaining whatsoever, just saying. And Jason Voorhees? _Really?_ "

Embry held out his arms. "Hear me out—Darth Vader is badass. Jason is badass. The two of them together would be unbeatable. Undefeated champions!"

I thought it over. Yes, Darth Vader was a skilled Sith and could absolutely crush any of his opponents, but he was also all about advancing _his_ selfish motivations and wouldn't work in anyone's favor except his own. Only in strange instances of heart did he do anything outside what served him best. And Jason Voorhees was a silent powerhouse that could and would destroy anyone according to his mother's orders. He was also in Camp Crystal Lake rotting at the bottom of the lake. Embry had his work cut out for him, but whatever... If I could bring a skating legend just to attain my out-of-the-blue image of Tony Hawk skating with Hulk Hogan on his shoulders, Embry could make an impossible duo.

We spent more than a half hour discussing our teams and their pros and cons, only for the door to abruptly burst open midway through. We turned, expecting the wolves and their attention-grabbing entrance—getting that exactly.

Sam was first, and he came instantly to Emily's side; Paul was next, doing the same and beelining for me. I felt fucking odd given how easy trashing imprint couples came to me less than forty minutes ago. Especially odd when he pressed his lips to my cheek and stationary as a monument, he stood behind my chair, arms slinking around to display themselves at my chest. I pushed the oddness aside, trying to take the never-befores in stride. Even if Paul had his moments of being like any other boyfriend, he was still the doggish dickhead I loved. I had no reason to worry we were reverting to a _Days of Our Lives_ couple.

I didn't see Jacob until he took Emily's vacated seat she left prior to them entering. He was bigger than when I last paid any attention to him, at least half a foot taller and two or three inches wider. His long dark hair was completely gone, replaced by a cut close to his scalp. The two of us shared a look.

My sworn enemy was good-looking underneath the long hair and puppy love. What a fucking miracle.

I recalled my talk with Bella, and I _had_ to smirk. She knew about vampires, the very creatures Jacob and his blood brothers were "designed to kill." I wondered how exactly that conversation went over. _If_ they told him already.

Jacob scowled at me. "Why does your face look like that? Stop it."

I thought fast. "Oh, nothing," I said innocently, sugary sweet—two things I certainly was not. "It's just funny how you used to hate the stuffing outta these guys and now you're here, part of their cult. Don't you just _love_ karma?"

"Alissa," Sam said warningly. I glanced over at him, surprised to see just how angry he was. It couldn't have just been because I was trying for a rise out of their new recruit. His eyes danced between me and the fleshed heater feet behind my chair, and it clicked. _He knows about last night._

This didn't come like some plot twist—I knew perfectly well that Paul had no chance of hiding anything we did together. I really wanted to book it regardless, hating anything to do with getting my ass handed to me. In front of Jacob, too? Like a cake with no eggs, milk, or butter.

I smiled. "Now Sam, you know how persuasive I can be… and how much power the imprint bond has."

Sam's Alpha eyes sharpened, like he was about ready to lay so hard into me that I'd cooperate for the rest of my days, but Jacob was confused. We turned to him when he asked, "Wait, you never said anything about an 'imprint bond.' I thought you told me everything already?"

If he knew everything, then he already knew about Bella. That had to have been hilarious to watch. I'd need to catch a breakdown of everything from Embry later. I stayed smiling and snuggling into the wooden back of my chair, letting Paul's hand glide up to massage my right shoulder. He playfully pinched me and God, I wanted to wallop him in the fucking head.

"Paul is Alissa's imprint," Sam said, starting with an example. Jacob's eyes bugged out when they flickered away from his Alpha to where I was. He was unreadable but I hazarded a guess he wasn't too thrilled at Sam's implied meaning to an "imprint bond." Unless the fool in love within him was hoping that Bella would be his imprint…. I wouldn't at all be surprised. He loved setting himself up for heartbreak the same way I did for failure.

"Okay, so what's an imprint?" he asked, noticing Sam's own close proximity to Emily. He looked over at Embry and Jared, a question in his eyes. It almost surprised me when I realized he was the only one in the room who didn't have one.

"It's like a soul-mate," I said, smirking.

Jacob's confusion grew. "How does it work?"

"Gravity moves, and the center of your universe becomes her. It doesn't matter who she is or what she does, you'll want to be hers and her be yours. You won't be able to think about anyone but her," Jared said lazily into the table, obviously off in Kim La La Land.

"So, love at first sight?" Jacob asked skeptically.

"No," Paul said, blunt as ever. "You can't love someone until you know them."

"Aw, Paul, I didn't know you were a secret softie," I said, craning my head back to cheese up at him. He rolled his eyes.

Jacob shook his head. "Okay, I guess I understand… does every shifter have one?"

Sam's face transitioned to grim, keeping a soft hand on Emily's neck. "It's traditionally rare, but so far each of us have imprinted. You're new so it's unsurprising that you're without one. It's untelling you'll get one or not."

"You imprinted?" Jacob asked, staring at Embry in astonishment.

Embry shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, on Kallie O'Brien…"

"Speaking of which, Kallie knows about vampires. Brandon does too," I chirped, shrinking back when all eyes snapped to me. They didn't leave like I expected—no, _wanted_ them to.

Sam raised his eyebrows, reverting to Alpha mode immediately. He was pretty much there already but now he was interrogative, as opposed to advising. "And you failed to mention this _why_?"

"Well, the thing is I didn't know at the time that what we all said to each other happened outside of Dakota," I said. "When I went outside of their house I got sucked into an illusion with the dick. So it's taken a bit understanding when exactly he got a hold on my mental. But when I went to their house they saw Dakota outside and made that clear. Brandon started saying random things about this magician he knew who had the same coffin runway look as Dakota and it clicked he was talking about Roman. He seemed to believe completely that vampires were real but Kallie was more… I dunno, unconvinced. After all that they definitely shouldn't have more doubts."

"Did you talk to her?" Sam asked.

I contemplated lying, but they could all hear my heartbeat so they'd know when I was. I bit my bottom lip, sucking it underneath my teeth. "No," I admitted. "She's kind of pissed at me. And I'm kind of pissed at her. I could have _died_ , you know."

Jacob definitely knew all about Dakota; he was sitting and watching our exchange, not the least bit confused. It must have been one of the first explanations Sam and the others gave him after he shifted back to human. At our pause he said questioningly, "If she's Embry's imprint, she'll have to know about the pack, right?"

"Yes, at one point," Sam said, thoughtfully looking at me. "Her brother is one to watch. He may shift."

Brandon's father was one-tenth Native, making him as pale as someone from Forks. I myself wasn't the most indicatory of a Native but Brandon was a special case of "Do I belong here?" difference. Him potentially shifting was baffling.

"How?" I knew I looked silly. My "I'm confused" face was graceless and frankly ugly. "His Dad's one-tenth."

Sam gestured to Embry, who went tense under the sudden attention. "Embry doesn't know who his father is. We had no reason to believe he'd shift. When he did, it was a shock to us all. The gene could come from the mother or father, we have no way of knowing. Or he could have a different biological father."

I nodded in understanding. "Keep an eye on him then—"

"Oh my God, Alissa," Jared said angrily, bursting through the conversation I was already having. I turned my head. He had his phone on the table and he was _really_ angry, glaring at me, the face of reckoning. My heart dropped when I came to see Sam's confrontation wasn't the only one I'd be getting today. Not that I didn't already suspect this. "What the hell did Kim do to you? You made her cry."

"I _knew_ she'd message you," I said accusingly, bringing my hand up and running it down my face. I collected my bearings, avoiding looking at Jared. "Look, she deserved it. She was being annoying and her friends were getting in my business. If she doesn't want me to be mean to her, she could, I don't know, _not_ gossip?"

"Kim doesn't gossip; she was just trying to help you," Jared said. Did he _seriously_ believe that? Every girl at the stupid fucking school gossiped, about me, about the Meadows family, about which boys were banging which girls—he had to be braindead not to see it.

"Sure, sure," I said sarcastically. I glared daggers at the other side of the table, where not one, but _two_ assholes were sitting. "Bringing up rumors that nimrod over there started _really_ helped me."

Jacob narrowed his eyes. "Rumors? I didn't tell anyone anything but the truth."

Like it usually did my patience snapped.

"God, I will fucking murder you, Black," I snarled at him, feeling Paul hold me back. We took turns playing mediator; it was his turn today apparently.

"Didn't you also screw Jeremiah?" Jacob asked, leaning back like he didn't have a care in the world. Maybe he didn't.

"No, but one more word and I'll make Bella think you have fucking mono," I said threateningly. Honestly he didn't even have to say another word; I intended on letting her know the next time we talked. "I don't know what it is with you spreading shit but it's getting pretty old."

"You make it easy for yourself," Jacob said with a smile.

Still pissed about my play in Kim's emotional instability, Jared was scowling at me after I snuck a glance at him. "There's a reason rumors go around about you, Alissa, and it's because you're a bitch," he ranted, and Emily gasped. She had no idea what kind of shit she was getting herself into having the three of us at a dinner together.

"Enough," Sam said sternly. We all ignored him, even if there was an Alpha command somewhere in there.

I stood up, wrenching off Paul's arms. "You're such an asshole," I said angrily, taking all that was in me not to yell. "You really want to believe your girlfriend over me? She only came crying to you because you're blind as a fucking bat and will believe whatever bullshit she tells you. If plain Jane thinks me telling her off is the worst I can do, I'll fucking deck her the next time I see her. You think I won't? I'm sick of you all thinking you can say and do whatever you want and it doesn't hurt me—"

"That's because it doesn't hurt you; you just say it does for attention!" Jared shouted, effectively cutting me off. I glared furiously. Contrary to what he believed that fucking hurt.

I opened my mouth to say something equally as hurtful but someone slammed their hands on the tabletop, shaking it violently.

"ENOUGH!" Sam roared.

We instantly fell silent. I continued to glare at Jared, wanting nothing more than to hit him and hit his stupid girlfriend, but I had no way of doing anything except sitting and scowling. Sam was pissed and so was Jared and even Jacob to an extent. Paul was probably about to kick Jared's teeth in for talking to me like that, probably Jacob's too. I was seething. I was one short second away from turning both assholes on the opposite side of the table into mincemeat and leaving with a skip in my step. I wasn't lying; I really had reached my limit and couldn't take it anymore.

"Jared, don't say another word to her," Sam said to Jared sternly, the Alpha command heard by us all. Jared nodded wordlessly, sending me another glare. Sam looked over at me with the same heat. "And Alissa, we have more pressing matters than arguing. Wait until you leave."

 _Fuck you, Sam,_ I thought but bit my tongue, giving a sharp nod. I grumpily plopped back down into my seat. Paul's hands returned to roaming around on my shoulders and spine.

The dick leaned in and whispered into my ear, "That didn't last very long."

I threw my hand back mindlessly, reveling in the smack I made. It hurt me more than it hurt him but the thought was there, the sentiment. Regardless of how patronizing it was when he feigned hurt, I let the smug bitch in me fester. Any rise in mood would lessen how much I wanted to bruise someone and leave.

With or without the rise I still sulked at my seat. Awful, I felt awful.

Jacob caught my eye across the table and smirked. "You going to cry, Cameron?"

Sam watched me with a warning plain as day in his eyes. He knew I could easily provoke Jacob to shift if I wanted to.

Paul didn't care; a noise rumbled in his throat. "Don't talk to her," he growled.

Jacob scoffed. "She's no angel," he told Paul. Paul made another sound that shook my backside.

Like Paul, I also didn't care.

I made myself sit still, against my desire to pound Jacob into next year. "I will make you wish you were never born, Black. Shut _up_ ," I said through gritted teeth. Accidentally I let my fist slam into the table as an indicator that I was pissed off before it popped open into a palm, and I almost felt glee when my anger broke a fuse, resulting in a roar louder than Sam's and a wisp of a shadowed wolf coming out of the crescent tattoo that still hadn't lost its bold black hue. It crashed into the muffin basket, sending three blueberry ones scattering. The wolf spirit left right as it came nose-to-nose with Jacob.

Scaredy cat Jacob Black released a rather _feminine_ yell and stumbled away from the table, his chair crashing back from underneath him.

He pointed at finger at me. "What the fuck—why didn't anyone tell me Alissa Cameron was a witch?!" he cried. So they hadn't told him _every_ thing.

I grinned at him sinisterly, though my heart pounded, not having expected that. "Now to turn you into a shrimp," I said, curving my hand like another shot of wolfish doom would appear, spelling death for one Jacob Black. He flinched back, but not without glaring at me like I was the Devil.

"Alissa," Sam said sternly.

I glanced at him, back at Jacob, then dropped my hand. There wouldn't have been a show anyway, not while I was still easily overpowered by my emotions. The only real winners here were the spectators.

"Seriously. What the fuck," Jacob said breathlessly, watching me warily.

Jared laughed. "She's a witch, like you said. Didn't you notice the pointy nose and greasy hair?"

I wished I had control of my powers; I'd be a relentless bomb of jump-scares, my only life goal to terrify Jared and Jacob into squealing like pansies. "You think that's an insult but it's really not; I _want_ to be a witch," I said sweetly. "First thing I'd do is sew your mouth shut, Jared. Try tonguing Kim down with stitched lips, piss-for-brains—"

"Alissa, what did I just say?" Sam said, sounding like a father. I really didn't care for it, but listened anyway, knowing I'd be kicked out if I didn't. _Like that's a bad thing…_ "Now, if that's over with, we have the redhead to discuss."

Sam gave me one last "watch yourself" glare before we all could untense, settling back like none of that just happened. It did happen sadly. Couldn't erase the past, no matter how much we all wished we could.

Jacob stewed in the events, until eventually he erupted, unable to hold it in anymore. "What the hell is she?" he asked.

My nose involuntarily creased. _Uh, right here, asshole. You could ask me yourself?_

"Her father's the Council's emissary and he runs the Archives. He's currently on bedrest from the incident we told you about," Sam said in place of me. "She has a connection to our ancestors none of us have. It runs in her family."

Jacob's eyes automatically flew to Jared. "Why didn't he get them then?"

"Usually there aren't any vampires running amuck," I said drily. Jacob's returning stare was blank. "Are you brain-dead? That's how you phase."

"The redhead," he said, the answer dawning on him.

Yes, the redhead—who now had a name. Victoria. What Bella told me rattled in my head, telling me to say something, anything. The pack needed to know. But my lips stayed sealed.

I wouldn't tell the boys yet, partially because I was a petulant child and didn't enjoy helping anyone who thought they could drill into me and I wouldn't crack because I was supposedly bulletproof. Okay, okay, who was I kidding? That was the entire reason.

I put on my best apathetic face and crossed my legs underneath the table, sinking back into Paul's body heat.

"We'll need to increase patrol and move into Forks," Sam said seriously, glancing around at the wolves that occupied the table. "The redhead's here for something."

I zoned out for the rest of his orders and suggestions, only vaguely hearing Paul say he couldn't wait to "sink his teeth into the bloodsucker." I only remembered it because it made me the slightest bit turned on and I had to sink my face into the tabletop to avoid my thoughts clearly defining themselves. I had a very expressive face.

After they finished, Emily asked if everyone wanted to stay for dinner, before Paul and Embry left for their night shift. Jacob and Jared eagerly agreed, and Sam obviously had no choice since this was his fiancée, but I was unusually silent. I didn't feel like my usual self at all. I wanted to go home and sleep. I'd do just that.

"No thanks, Emily," I said, catching Jacob's look of delight. Jared was expressionless; as my brother, he probably knew there was something wrong but wouldn't comment on it because he was still mad at me. I looked away from them and smiled. It was more fake than any smile I'd ever put out. "Thanks for the muffins. I'll be sure to come by more, if you don't mind."

"Alissa Cameron being polite, never thought I'd see the day," Jacob said, guffawing. I sent him my most menacing glare, knowing it'd just amuse him. I was surprised Paul hadn't already shifted and attacked him or Jared. He had a bad handle on his temper, just like I did.

Emily smiled. "Of course, sweetheart. Us imprints have to stick together," she said, and I slowly rose from my seat. Emily herself stood and maneuvered around the table, bringing me into a tight hug.

"See ya at school tomorrow," Embry said with a grin and a salute.

Sam gave a curt nod and Jacob said nothing and Jared's returning glare was nothing short of fuming. I couldn't wait to get out of here.

Paul wrapped an arm around my shoulder and steered me out of the house. Once we were out on Emily and Sam's porch he turned and stared at me curiously.

"You good?" he asked.

I shrugged. By now I was used to people hating me or being upset by something I did. "Yeah. I just don't want to be in a room with them right now," I said, knowing perfectly well Jacob and Jared could hear me.

"You don't know how hard it was not to beat the shit out of them. Jared was easier, but Jacob's a newbie and doesn't know his ass from his elbow. They've got another thing coming if they think they can bitch at you whenever you come around," Paul said gruffly and I almost smiled. He looked over at my Dad's car and back at me, brow cinched. "I won't get off til 1 or 2. Want me to call you after?"

I would definitely not be awake at that time but I liked our nighttime calls and we wouldn't be able to goof off during his patrols anymore so I looked at him and said, "Yeah, sure."

Paul grinned, raising his eyebrows. His arms slipped around my waist. "I'll be your booty call," he said.

I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway. "You'll have to up your game then. Not just anyone can be _my_ booty call."

Paul nodded seriously before he broke character, his hands rising to hold my shoulders. "You sure you're okay? Do you want me to drag them out and make them grovel at your feet? If Sam won't say something, I will."

"No, no, it's fine," I said. I wouldn't have minded that, though. "Hey, go have dinner. Maybe you'll catch a midnight granite snack. I've gotta go work on my art project anyway."

Paul leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. It felt nice but I wanted something more so I reached up, tilting his head to meet my lips instead. It was a farewell kiss, unlike others that ranged from sweet to hot to sloppy to affectionate. I allowed my fingers to graze his cheekbone lightly, only coming away when I became acutely aware of just how dark it was. There was barely any daylight left.

His lips tasted as I remembered them, like nothing. But they felt perfect, as cheesy as that was to say. He could kiss like an expert. It made me think about the many girls he was with before me, the ones I pushed to the back of my mind because the thought made me feel insecure. He must have picked up a thing or two in his excursions.

"Bye, Paul," I told him, forgoing the even-more-cheesy "I love you" afterthought.

Paul smirked, wiggling his eyebrows. "Bye, Lissy." I watched him go back in through the front door, giving another wave before he disappeared completely. I heard laughter and conversation pick up like he never left. I didn't belong there like the rest of them. I was a vegetable in a portrait of a fruit basket: not supposed to be there.

I turned and headed to my Dad's car, fishing out my key ring. It _was_ getting darker and I needed to head home before true night came. I hated driving in the dark.

As I was turning the key in the side of my car, I heard something. Or I _thought_ I heard something. It was like a whisper in the air, a soft lullaby under a crescendo of cheers. It lulled me into a sense of security. It called for me to follow it.

I shook myself out of it. _No, ignore it._ It was probably not real. It couldn't be. I was the only one out here.

But I heard it again. It was louder this time, carrying over two words I caught, "wind" and "rain." I was confused. It sounded like someone was singing. Who could be out here at this time of day/evening?

I went against every instinct telling me to get into the car and head home. I turned and jogged through the mud and grass, the voice directing me into the woods.

It got louder as I went. The become sounded eerily like something I knew, and the words felt even more familiar. I realized as my nerves bundled themselves up, fear getting the best of me, that it was a song from my childhood. Dad would sing it to Jared and me because it was one of his favorites and one of his Dad's favorites. It was nothing like a lullaby but it could be beautiful. Dad had a soothing voice when he sang. The foreboding words of the song sounded like a wonderful fate when they came out like a bird's twitter.

I pushed a branch out of my way, the back of my head whacked after I released. I cursed, stumbling forward and losing my balance, knees giving out into the mud. _Fuck,_ I thought.

I heard the song wholly now.

 _"_ _And she said, 'There, look through the trees.  
The sun always shines, always on time.  
Dare, rest on your knees  
and in a prayer, follow me there…'"_

I stood up, brushing the mud off my jeans. I pushed through more branches, ducking from blows and dodging pine needles. As I pushed through a couple of trees blocked by a shrub I saw it. I saw _him._

My jaw went slack and I blinked, not believing the sight in front of me. But every time I blinked the scene stayed the same. Every time I told myself it wasn't real, I opened my eyes to see it was.

" _Softly I slumber as I turn to powder_ ," the ashen man standing with his back to a tree sang, eyes closed to the inner melody. " _Blowing out over the sea, the wind and the rain billow me… though I'm no longer fire._ "

He was a tall man with hair that hung to his shoulders. In the dying daylight I saw wrinkles all over his face and he was wearing something alarmingly familiar. I gasped as I knew what it was.

The man blinked open two extraordinarily hazel eyes. He came forward into the light and I staggered back. He was translucent.

The singing man in front of me was a spirit.

The singing man in front of me was my grandfather.

"Alissa," he said with a smile so gentle I was sure his lips would break it. "You're finally here."

 _You're finally here._

The day had been long and painful and nearly impossible to get through, and this…

This was the icing on the cake.

* * *

 _A/N: I said I'd update in a week… I lied. Sorry._

 _ANYWAYYYYYY I hope you guys enjoyed this update and if you want to see me update more frequently than ever, feedback is essential. I read everyone's comments and concerns and to anyone who's been commenting, ILY! YOU MAKE ME HAPPY! Next chapter has the infamous slap… surely you guys wanna see that? :)  
_

 _The song that Arcus was singing at the end was Lay Me Down by The Connells'. If you're confused he's come to Earth in spirit form because of Taha Aki's spirit death to train Alissa. We'll get backstory in the next chapter AND we'll get a lot of New Moon material. Y'all excited?_

 _I hated this chapter but it's whatever. You may think a lot of the characters are OOC (Jacob specifically) and that's because their personalities needed to be tweaked for the AU elements I have planned. Their personalities from the books/movies will appear through character development!(And there are reasons why all characters act the way they do. Be patient as they become apparent!)  
_

 _As always, tell me what you want to see & anything you think should be different. Byeeee! _


End file.
